Page 14 of Enemy Within
They slid into the backseat behind Scott and Sergey, shaking off a dusting of snow from their gloves and jackets.
Scott and Sergey were peering at the road through their binoculars, not moving.
“What’s up?” Ethan nudged Scott’s shoulder.
Scott passed him the binos. “Forty yards ahead. Center of the road.”
Sergey still didn’t move.
He pulled the binos up to his eyes and adjusted the focus, slowly sweeping the road from side to side. As he hit the center, he froze, his breath punched from his chest with a quiet gasp. Ethan dropped the binos and turned to Jack, his eyes wide.
Jack held out his hand.
“What the hell is that?” Scott glared at Sergey, still staring down the road, not moving, his body taut. Tension thrummed off him, waves radiating bitter rage. “Whois that?”
Sergey finally spoke as Jack took the binos from Ethan and looked through them. “From the uniform, he appears to be a prison guard. I cannot see the shoulder patch. I do not know which prison he was from.”
“You mean hewasa prison guard,” Scott growled. “What the hell happened?”
Jack dropped the binos and passed them back to Ethan, his face pale and lips pressed into a thin line. Ethan didn’t want to, but he took another look.
Ahead, forty yards down the road, a stake had been driven into the center of a pothole, lurching skyward. Fixed to the stake, the remains of a man hung from his wrists, nailed to the center of the post over his head. A tattered blue uniform hung off his body, partially burned and ripped to shreds. His stomach had been gutted, entrails pouring out, and his eyeballs had been plucked from his face. His lower jaw was gone, a gaping, red maw open to his throat. One foot was also gone, seemingly gnawed off by an animal.
“I do not know,” Sergey finally breathed. “It is not a bear attack.”
“No shit!” Scott snapped. “You said a prison guard. Just how many prisons are there in Siberia?”
Sergey hesitated. “Most of them.”
“Could there be a breach? Could some prisoners have escaped from a facility?” Jack leaned forward, hanging over the front seat, putting himself between Scott and Sergey.
Exhaling, Sergey closed his eyes. “If that is the case, then we must hurry. We have to get away from here.”
“Again, no shit,” Scott grumbled.
“Scott.” Ethan nudged his friend, shaking his head slightly. “Let’s get the road clear. We have to move.”
Sergey and Scott slid out of the jeep. Ethan turned to Jack. “Wait for me back in our jeep? You don’t need to see this.”
“If I help, it will go faster.”
Jack and Scott caught the stake after Sergey and Ethan wrestled it from where it had been embedded in the near-frozen center of the pothole. Cursing and breathing hard, they carried it, deceased guard still attached, to the side of the road. Sergey searched the body and came up empty, but his lips thinned and his eyes darkened when he saw the black dolphin patch half-burned on the guard’s right shoulder.
Scott said a quick prayer, and then they tossed the stake over the edge, into the ravine. There was nothing more they could do.
“What does the black dolphin mean?” Jack turned to Sergey. His blue eyes blinked above the dark fabric of his balaclava.
Sergey looked anywhere but at Jack. Biting the inside of his cheek, he glared into the forest over Jack’s shoulder. “Black Dolphin Prison. Russia’s worst. Our supermax, as you would say. Where our worst murderers are sent for life.”
“Fuck,” Ethan breathed, sharing a look with Scott.
“Why would a Black Dolphin prison guard be staked to a pole out here? Gutted like that?”
Sergey shook his head. “There is no good answer. None that is acceptable for us. We must keep moving.”
“Sergey, what aren’t you telling us?” Jack stepped closer, reaching for Sergey. His hand closed over Sergey’s elbow.
Sergey wrenched away, turning back to the jeeps and their convoy. “We move! Now!” He strode off, moving fast.
