The Hunters

‘You might have friends in high places,’ Cobb shot back, ‘but every outsider that knows anything about what we’re doing here puts the whole mission in jeopardy. And not just the objective. You’re risking our lives.’

‘Um, I hate to interrupt …’ said a voice behind them.

They turned to see Jasmine in the doorway between the armory car and the private quarters.

Cobb glanced at her. ‘What’s up, Jasmine?’

‘Could I see you for a second?’ she asked.

‘I’ll be right with you,’ he assured her, before turning back to Papineau. ‘I’m kind of in the middle of something.’

‘I see that,’ she said, retreating. ‘I’ll be in Sarah’s quarters.’

‘Fine. See you soon.’

Cobb breathed slowly and deeply, but the Frenchman could tell the difference between a man who was doing that instinctively and a man who was trying to keep himself calm.

Of course, Papineau could see what was troubling Cobb. Despite their best efforts, two members of the team had already been attacked, and they hadn’t even left the station yet. What would happen once the train started picking up speed?

Cobb leaned closer and whispered with menace, ‘Tell me, Papi, what makes you so damn confident that we can pull this off? What are you hiding up your sleeve?’

Papineau stared directly into Cobb’s eyes. When he replied, he answered with total honesty and complete conviction. ‘You.’

36

Cobb made his way to their sleeping quarters where Jasmine was tending to their injured colleague. Since the car had been cannibalized from the first-class compartments of the Lev Tolstoy, it required very little improvement. There were six spacious cabins and two baths with multiple sinks and shower stalls.

Cobb was amused by the dichotomy between this luxurious train car, which was known for first-class travel between Moscow and Finland, and the frugal man it was named for. Lev ‘Leo’ Tolstoy was one of Russia’s greatest writers, having written the monumental classic War and Peace. By the end of his life, Tolstoy was a fervent believer in nonviolent resistance and famed for his ascetic lifestyle. Cobb wondered if Tolstoy would be amused or outraged by the extravagant carriage that bore his name — especially since the other cars of the train were loaded with weapons. He also wondered which was louder: the rumble of the engine or the sound of Tolstoy spinning in his grave?

In either case, each cabin had one large, square window that could be covered with a set of blue and white curtains for privacy or sealed shut with a bulletproof grate that slid from the top. Every compartment had a sitting section, which looked like a restaurant booth, and a sleeping section with a comfortable bed beside a small chair and table.

Cobb knocked on the door of Sarah’s compartment. He was about to walk in when Jasmine opened the door. ‘How’s she doing?’ he asked.

‘She’s okay,’ Jasmine said in the doorway. ‘Embarrassed, but okay.’

‘Why is she embarrassed?’

‘Because someone got the best of her. She’s used to delivering blows, not receiving them.’

Cobb smiled. ‘How’s her head?’

‘Her head is fine. It’s her neck that’s killing her. The guy didn’t knock her out. He choked her unconscious with some kind of death grip.’

He glanced at the bruises on Jasmine’s neck. ‘There’s a lot of that going around.’

She nodded. ‘I finally convinced her to get some rest. She wanted to go out and slaughter the first person she saw in a black coat.’

Cobb shook his head, his mouth stretched into something that denoted both a grin and a grimace. ‘We have to assume they are all trained in Sambo. It’s the Russian equivalent of the Israeli Krav Maga.’

‘Rough-and-tumble, result-oriented?’ Jasmine said.

Cobb nodded. ‘Both were created by the military to be the most brutally effective self-defence systems they could think of. By the way he acted getting in and out, I’d guess he was ex-secret police. The KGB was big on organic infiltration like this, not break-ins. Let the inhabitants bring you inside with them.’

Cobb studied Jasmine’s face. She was upset about something. He could see it in her eyes and the way she clenched her jaw. ‘So, what did you want to talk about?’

Jasmine glanced away. ‘Jack, I’m worried.’

‘I can see that. What about, specifically?’

‘I remember all the drilling, all the lessons I was taught back in Florida, but … you saw me in the field. When that punk attacked me, it all …’ She tried to pinpoint the feeling the memory elicited. ‘It all went away. Just vanished.’

Cobb smiled kindly. ‘Let me ask you a question.’

She took a deep breath and met his gaze. It was clear from her expression that she didn’t want to back away or back out. She was looking for something to get her back on track.

‘Do you want to get attacked again?’ Cobb asked.

‘No!’ she blurted, her voice filled with anger.

That was exactly what he wanted to hear.

‘There you go,’ Cobb said. ‘You said it yourself: you know how to prevent it. What you didn’t know was how it was going to feel. How you were going to feel. But now you do.’

She nodded slowly, trying to absorb his message.

‘Pro athletes often talk about the speed of the game. It’s something you can’t fully grasp in a practice session. You have to experience it to understand it.’

‘Are you talking about adrenalin?’

‘Partly. But it’s more than that. It’s about making correct decisions under fire. A fist coming at you demands that you move or block. You don’t have time to remember complex moves, and there’s no need to. You just have to reply to whatever move is put on you. You’re being choked from behind? You know where your opponent’s eyes are for gouging, where the groin is for grabbing, where fingers are for bending back. Simply do what you’ve been taught.’

‘You make it sound pretty easy, when you think about it,’ Jasmine said.

‘Actually,’ Cobb laughed, ‘I’m saying it’s pretty easy when you don’t think about it.’

Just then, they heard a noise inside the cabin. They both looked at Sarah, who was now sitting up on her bed.

‘I’ll tell you what I’m thinking about,’ Sarah complained. ‘That if you really wanted me to get some rest, you wouldn’t be talking in my doorway.’

Cobb smiled. ‘So, you’re saying you’re better?’

‘I’m good enough.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

She looked at Jasmine. ‘Thanks for looking after me.’

Before Jasmine could answer, Garcia interrupted in their ears. ‘I got it!’

‘What’s that?’ Cobb asked.

‘What the Black Robe wanted,’ he said.

Cobb looked at the two women with encouragement. He was glad they were back on speaking terms. ‘One drama finished, another ready to begin …’

Garcia was at his workstation, focused on a device that resembled a small spider that had died on its back with its legs up.