The Hunters

the better-known term ‘Sambo’. Created in the 1920s by the Russian military, it literally translated as ‘self-defense without weapons’, but its combat style combined the most devastatingly effective means of killing from every other martial art in the world. Karate striking, jiu-jitsu choking, judo locking, muay thai crushing, and so on. Nothing was off limits in most martial arts around the world, but everything was encouraged in Sambo.

Cobb almost smiled. He still couldn’t see his adversary, but that didn’t matter. He slid his right leg forward, along the gravel, toward his opponent. That’s all it took to break the figure’s pincer-like grip on his leg. Cobb knew that to execute the move, the figure would have ended up bent slightly forward, presenting his head for whatever Cobb decided to do next. That would have been to grab the back of the individual’s head and send his face into Cobb’s knee, which was there and waiting. But the figure had anticipated his vulnerability and inverted the V of his arms so it was facing up, to catch Cobb’s hand as he reached. That delayed Cobb’s attack long enough for the figure to back deeper into the shadows — back to the left, from the crunch of the rock. Cobb thrust his already extended hand after him, grabbed cloth, but his opponent had enough momentum to spin out of his grip and run away.

Cobb hoped that McNutt knew what to do next. They’d saved Sarah; now it was time to get the attacker. A second later, Cobb was thrilled to see McNutt in hot pursuit.

Wasting no time, Cobb scurried back to Sarah. Even from a distance, he could see that she was breathing evenly, so he had no worries about her long-term health. But just to be safe, he checked her carefully and spotted no obvious damage. In Cobb’s mind, her condition was both good and bad news. It was good because Sarah would recover and his team could move on as planned. It was bad because it reaffirmed his earlier theory: the assailant wasn’t a thug; he was a trained professional. A corrupt cop, black marketeer, or psycho skinhead would have used a weapon to take Sarah out, but this guy took her down with ease.

Someone like that could ruin a mission like theirs.

‘Gone,’ McNutt whispered from the other side of the station. A minute later, he was crouching down next to Cobb, explaining how the assailant had escaped. ‘I’ve never seen anybody move that fast without a jet pack. Who the hell was it?’

Cobb shrugged, his focus still on Sarah. ‘I don’t know, but I’ve got a bad feeling that we’ll find out soon enough.’

34

Garcia accessed the video feed from a security camera outside the train yard and transferred it to his computer screen. Papineau and Cobb leaned over the seated tech expert and studied the digitally recorded image of the man in black, racing from the yard.

Meanwhile McNutt was in the freight car, doing an inventory to make sure nothing was taken, added, or sabotaged. Sarah was in her compartment, recovering, while Jasmine tended to her. Team members can bicker all they want — that’s to be expected given the danger and their close proximity — but they’re there for each other when it counts. As they went about their various tasks, they were all continuously linked via their earpieces, eliminating the need for repetitious explanations later.

‘Any insight, Papi?’ Cobb asked.

Papineau glared at Cobb. ‘About what, specifically?’

Cobb was unfazed. ‘The intruder.’

Papineau let Cobb’s veiled accusation hang in the air for several seconds. He was ready to lash back when Garcia broke the silence.

‘Well, I’ve seen him before.’

‘Where?’ Papineau demanded.

‘Well, maybe not him,’ Garcia corrected. ‘But someone who dressed like him. I figured he was some kind of priest. Russian Orthodox, or some religion like that.’

‘We’ve all seen his kind,’ Cobb said.

Papineau looked at him with surprise.

‘Don’t play innocent,’ Cobb said. ‘It doesn’t suit you. There’s been one of his kind virtually everywhere we’ve gone. Walking close, passing through, talking to others. Nothing secretive like today, but they’ve been around. The first time they showed up was at the reception. You looked at him longer than the rest of us — like you’d seen him before.’

Papineau pulsed with anger. He opened his mouth to ridicule Cobb, but he managed not to. He stood firm against the wave of emotion, realizing that it was anger rising to cover guilt.

‘I have seen him before,’ Papineau admitted carefully, staring into Cobb’s eyes. ‘Or at least, like Hector said, someone in similar attire.’

Garcia found that he was holding his breath, as the two seemed to be deciding just how far they were willing to bend before one of them snapped.

‘Like you said,’ Papineau continued, ‘they’ve been hovering around the edges.’

Cobb seemed to drop some of his military posture. He sighed and scratched his head. ‘Okay, if that’s the way you want to play this …’

‘What is “this”?’ Papineau asked irritably.

Cobb folded his arms. ‘I said from the beginning that I’d bail if you ever countermanded my orders. Stupidly, I never said I required full disclosure, so I suppose we’re stuck with each other for a while. That said, I want to know what you know. All of it.’

The Frenchman stared in amazement, then he honestly and wholeheartedly laughed, clapping Cobb on the shoulder. ‘Mon ami, you are truly something.’

‘Don’t try to flatter me,’ Cobb warned with a smile. He could play insincere as well as Papineau. ‘We could’ve lost someone today based on what you didn’t share. I’m giving you a chance to do that now. One time only.’

Papineau grinned. ‘Do you really think you can threaten me?’

Cobb rolled the man’s hand from his shoulder. ‘If putting your head under the wheels of a slow-moving train is a threat, then yeah, I do.’

'Черные робы.'blurted Garcia suddenly, defusing the confrontation in pitch-perfect Russian. He was smiling up at them as if expecting a reward. ‘Jasmine has been teaching me correct pronunciation, or is it enunciation? Anyway, she figured I’d need it.’

They stared at him, waiting for his translation.

‘Anyway,’ he said as he filled the silence, ‘I’ve been sitting here trying to remember their name. They’re called the Black Robes.’

‘Black Robes?’ Cobb echoed.

‘Yeah,’ Garcia said, returning his attention to the computer screen. ‘As I was about to say before you guys started antler-banging, I saw one enter an Internet cafe that I was checking out. I was trying to find some like- minded hackers in Moscow, just in case. Guys, I’m telling you: if you combined Sarah and me, you’d get someone like those Russian hack kids. They really are incredible. Money-crazy, but totally smart.’

‘Back on topic?’

‘Yeah, sorry. Uh, which one?’

Cobb shook his head. ‘One of those Black Robes looked into the cafe? He didn’t try to hide himself?’

‘Nope,’ Garcia said, getting back on track. ‘But it was weird. When the hackers saw him, they recoiled in obvious fear. Someone mentioned that phrase: 'Черные робы.'

When I asked Jasmine about it, she translated it as “Black Robes”.’ He looked back at his team leader. ‘Apparently, they’re a sect of some kind.’

‘What kind?’ Papineau asked.

Garcia shrugged. ‘Damned if I know.’

Cobb looked at the Frenchman. ‘You really don’t know?’

‘I really do not.’

‘Where did you see them, then?’

‘The same places you’ve seen them,’ Papineau replied.