receive medical attention in time — I put a field dressing on it so the bleeding is under control. But the leg is a problem. The bullet nicked the femoral artery. If I loosen the tourniquet, you’ll bleed out in a matter of a minute or two. As it is, by the time we get you to the nearest medical facility, you’ll be in danger of losing it. So let’s make this fast. I need answers. If you’re truthful with me, I’ll finish this and take you to the closest town so a doctor can save your miserable ass. If you lie, you’ll die like a dog out here. Are we clear?” David demanded.
Yuri nodded.
“Okay. First question. Who are you?”
“Yuri Kevlev.”
“Who are these men?”
“Mercenaries. They work for me. I handle security for a number of high-profile companies.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Coordinating an operation.” Yuri coughed, blood tingeing the spittle that flecked out of his mouth.
“What was the objective?”
“We were to assassinate the prime minister and four of his closest cabinet members the day after tomorrow.”
Jet interrupted. “Why bring in a large force like this? Why not just a few contractors?” she demanded. “Two, maybe three qualified operatives could have easily handled that. Hell, I could have done it and been home in time for lunch.”
Yuri appraised her.
“It was supposed to look messy. Like a drug cartel hit. Lots of shooting and collateral damage.”
David snapped his fingers in front of Yuri’s face to bring his attention back to him.
“Why? Why a cartel?”
“I don’t know.”
David shook his head. “Don’t lie to me. I told you I would know when you lied to me. Do you want the morphine or should I dig my knife into your chest and carve my initials into the bullet wound?” He kicked Yuri in the ribs. The Russian erupted in a burbling coughing fit. David stood impassively by, watching as he fought for breath.
“What was the reason for making it look like a cartel execution?”
“I was told to make it look like one. That’s all I know.”
Jet exchanged a quick glance with David.
“Who do you work for?”
“Grigenko.”
“Why kill the prime minister and his cabinet?”
“Something to do with oil. With them dead, a new cabinet would be named, and he’s paid off the likely new group. They will declare any leases void that haven’t started pumping yet, which is all but one, and then Grigenko will be awarded the new lease.” Yuri’s voice was starting to fade. “Please. The morphine.”
“After a few more questions. Were you behind the attacks on the houses in Israel?”
“Yes.”
“And on her, in Trinidad?”
“Yes.”
“What about the team members?”
“Yes.”
“Why kill them?”
“Loose ends. He couldn’t afford anyone to live who might have known about the oil. You were all a liability.” Yuri’s eyes closed from pain, and then he opened them and fixed Jet with a glare. “You’ll never be safe. He will spare nothing to kill you. You murdered his brother. Nothing will save you.”
“So I’ve heard,” Jet said, obviously unimpressed. “Now for the most important question, and then you get the shot. Where is Grigenko now?”
Yuri grimaced, a cadaverous grin that stretched his pallid skin taut.
“You have no chance.”
“Perhaps. But where is he?”
“In his compound, safe, in Moscow, surrounded by the best security in the world.”
Jet held his eyes.
“Give him the shot,” she said and stepped back.
David moved to him and stabbed the needle into his arm, depressing the plunger.
Jet moved back to his side.
“Every target has a weakness. No security is airtight. There has to be a way to Grigenko in Moscow. I need you to think. How would you do it if you had to take him out?”
Yuri shook his head. “Impossible.” His eyes began to drift.
“Let’s get you to a hospital,” David said.
Yuri jolted. “No. I failed — and the price for this kind of failure is the ultimate one. I’m a dead man. He can’t afford me to implicate him. Even if I somehow managed to survive, I don’t want to spend my life in a Belizean jail.”
“I’m afraid that’s not your choice. But look at the bright side. There’s a better than even chance you’ll die before the doctors can save you,” David reasoned.
“Not good enough. Release the belt. This will be over quickly. Painlessly.”
“Sorry, Yuri. It’s just not your lucky day.”
His eyes filled with panic. “I can tell you how to get to him,” Yuri blurted, his words slurring slightly as the morphine hit.
“What? How?” Jet asked.
“Promise to let me die and I’ll tell you,” Yuri gasped.
David stepped away from him, and Jet moved closer.
“Fine. I’ll see you in hell soon enough, anyway. Tell me and I’ll keep my word,” she promised.
He motioned to her with his good hand. She leaned into him.
Yuri began speaking, softly, as if to a lover, his words a murmur.
A minute later, she straightened.
“The explosions and gunfire will draw police and military here soon. Even in the middle of nowhere, the sound of explosions carries for many miles. We need to get out of here,” she said to David.
Yuri looked at her expectantly.
She moved back to him and took his good hand, then guided it down to the belt around his thigh, pulling the end tighter to clear the prong from the belt hole. He gripped it shakily.
“Now you control your destiny. Just release the belt and it’s over.”
His eyes found hers with a flicker of gratitude. She turned to David, her business with Yuri concluded.
“Come on. Let’s move.”
They dropped their night vision goggles back into place, and she fished the GPS out of her backpack, then powered it on and waited for it to lock onto a satellite. After a quick consultation, she pointed at the trees, and they took off at a jog.
Yuri watched them disappear into the dark. His head swam, and a wave of nausea washed over him, and then his vision dimmed. In spite of the heat, he was cold.
He muttered a few words of a prayer his grandmother had taught him in secret as a small child — everything he could remember all these long years later. A tear rolled down his face, and he looked up at the night sky, faint stars glimmering overhead. There was Cancer. The Big Dipper. Mars.
He’d always been fascinated by the cosmos when he was young, the idea of other life forms somewhere out there having captured his adolescent imagination before he’d moved too much into this world, into adulthood, leaving the dreams and the wonder behind, exchanging them for the more attainable aspirations of a young man with high purpose.
Where had the time gone?
Would he have done anything differently if he’d been told that his life would end in a clearing in the middle of an anonymous jungle at thirty-nine years old? Would he have walked the same path? Could he have been someone
