The Killing Game (6 page)

Kicking the pedal to start it up, the accompanying noise of the engine shattered the tranquility of the morning.

She headed straight for the trail behind the camp, making a beeline for their position.

“Bloody fecking hell.”

He held perfectly still, glancing around without moving his head, looking for anything that might have given them away. But there was nothing. He nudged Baxter gently with his boot because the last thing he needed was the Scot starting to snore if she got too close.

Had she seen them?

His brain said no way, no fecking way. He remained still even as she got nearer and nearer to where they lay prone in the dirt concealed by rocks and bushes. He held his breath and felt Baxter tense beside him. Then she veered right and went to the top of the ridge.

What was she doing? Where was she going? He pressed the button on his wrist. “Subject on ridge between us. See if you can see what she’s up to, over,” he murmured.

“No visual. Out.”

The redheaded man stepped out of the central yurts and turned toward them, shading his eyes with his palm. Dempsey dropped his eye to the scope. The guy was tall and bulky, Scandinavian looking with a meaty jaw and cold blue eyes. Too young to be their target though.

Lovers? The woman’s husband? Serf? Minion? Slave?

He took some photos—something he should have done of the woman, but had forgotten because his small brain had taken command of the mission.

“She’s checking some sort of radio receiver. Can’t get a decent look at it but it doesn’t look military. Looks like she’s heading back your way,” Cullen said. Nerves buzzed. “She’s pretty once you realize she’s a lass and not a bloke.”

He rolled his eyes. Craig Cullen was a lady’s man and never missed an opportunity to score. Even in the Wakhan Corridor, Dempsey could sense him calculating his odds of seducing this woman. The sound of the bike engine amplified against the rock, grew louder as she crested the ridge and spat dust in her wake as she careened down the trail toward camp. He had an idea what these people might be, but until he knew for sure he had to assume they were hostile. Which was a damn shame, because not only was he hoping to borrow that makeshift shower, his body was telling him in no uncertain terms exactly who he’d like to share it with.

She parked the bike, and Dempsey watched her expression through the scope. Her mouth was pressed into a determined line, her eyes narrowed into a glare. Not a happy camper. The local guy came outside wringing his hands in an agitated gesture of distress. She stormed past both men into the tent, the redheaded giant’s shoulders sagging as he followed. The body language was undeniable. She was the leader of this little ragtag band of warriors, and whatever she was telling her cronies was going down as smoothly as a suicide pill at a birthday party.

***

“One of the snares has been triggered.” Axelle strode into the tent to check the satellite download. She needed to know where each of the collared cats was. “What’s the data telling us?”

When in range of the satellite, the units transmitted positional data every hour. The rest of the GPS coordinates were stored ready to be downloaded when they retrieved the device after the collar fell off—theoretically two years after they were deployed. Anji had found Sheba’s collar yesterday—sans snow leopard—which left no doubt in her mind that they had a poacher on their hands. A big, fat, murdering poacher who was targeting the animals using telemetry devices she’d attached.

They had to be careful how this played out. It was a political and ecological nightmare.

She stabbed her keyboard. Wanted to rip out the sonofabitch’s heart with her bare hands and stomp on his fingers so he could never hold a rifle ever again.

Josef grabbed the backpack of supplies, slung the tranquilizer rifle across his chest. “Which snare?” he asked, eyeing her as she rapidly typed instructions into the computer.

“Sector three. The first one we set yesterday.” She’d fallen in love with the sublime beauty of cats and had discovered something worth living for. Now someone was trying to rip that away from her, the way an IED had ripped away her husband all those years ago. If she weren’t so insignificant she’d think this was divine payback for her mistakes, but it was man who craved vengeance, not God.

She wiped the dust from her cheeks. Despite her morning wash she already felt grimy and hot. Tension drew tight across her chest. They needed to move fast because theoretically the snares could be used the same way the collars were. If the hunter took a leopard out of one of her traps she would track him to the end of the earth and crucify him. Forget justice and the law. You couldn’t bring back a snow leopard with a heavy fine or prison sentence. You couldn’t revive a species from an expensive fur coat.

She pushed away from the computer and grabbed her water canteen. “Sven’s signal is closest to the snare. Let’s get over there before this bastard beats us to it.”

“Can we both make it on the bike?”

“Damn straight.” Axelle went outside and swung onto the dirt bike and started it. The suspension sank considerably under the additional strain of Josef’s weight. She took a moment to readjust her balance. “Hold on,” she yelled and opened up the throttle.

She couldn’t go as fast as she wanted, the terrain was too rocky. She reminded herself that whoever was hunting these animals was either on horseback or on foot, and the bike was faster. “Come on, baby,” she urged the Yamaha.

They sped past scrubby bushes and over shallow streambeds that were bursting with spring melt. They slid sideways in the shale but Josef put his boots down and steadied the machine. Her heart sped as they climbed the last ridge into the canyon where they’d set the snare. The collars had an accuracy of about five meters so even though the signal showed Sven was nearby, it didn’t mean he was actually caught in the snare. A markhor or wolf could have been captured, and Sven could be nearby hoping to score an easy meal. If so, she didn’t want to scare the leopard away. Josef muttered under his breath in Danish.

She cut the engine at the entrance to the gully and waited for Josef to get off the bike before she lowered the kickstand and hopped off. They jogged cautiously forward, glancing uneasily around them as they made their way along the worn animal trail. A pissed-off hiss warned them to back off as soon as they came into view.

Relief hit her solar plexus like an explosive fist.

“Sven,” she whispered. Named after Josef’s late father, this was the first leopard they’d caught and collared. He wasn’t as aggressive or as liable to attack as Samson, but he was a fine, healthy specimen complete with requisite claws and teeth.

Josef loaded a dart, walked forward to take aim at the cat. Aside from an angry swipe of his extra-long tail, Sven seemed resigned to what happened next. Josef darted him in the rump and within a few minutes the cat was completely out of it.

Axelle strode forward and covered Sven in a sleeping bag to keep him warm while Josef worked on the collar. She released the cat’s front paw from the snare, checked for damage but there was none. She examined his other massive front paw and noted he’d lost a toe—probably to a wolf trap. Unfortunately one of the most endangered species in the world had more to worry about than losing a toe. Josef popped the collar and Axelle prepared the antidote to bring the cat around. Just as she was about to stick it into his flank, the sound of two rifle shots split the air in quick succession.

Shock ripped the air from her lungs. Distress flashed along every nerve ending and over her skin like a blast wave. It took a moment to catch her breath and swallow her anger before she stabbed the needle into Sven’s lax flank. They backed away to let the animal recover.

“Maybe he missed.” Josef’s voice was gruff.

She stared at the blue sky and cursed.

Sven clambered slowly to his feet and staggered in a circle.

“Go!” she yelled. “Go, go!”
Run from this terrible place.
The cat turned to growl at her before bounding away. She stalked over and reset the trap because Goran also patrolled this canyon, and Sven better have enough sense to avoid the area for the next few days.

Dammit
. She rested her forehead in her palm. Josef moved closer and put his hand between her shoulder blades. She might have taken that simple comfort if she didn’t think she’d buckle under the knowledge that one of her beloved animals was probably dead or dying.

She jerked away and looked over the valley with the jagged ramparts of the Hindu Kush bearing down on them from the south. Afghanistan was locked down by violence. Even if they got a message through to the right person in Kabul, the officials there might rate the plight of the snow leopard a poor runner-up to the troubles of their people.

The enormity of the task began to seep in and overwhelm her. Why were humans so callous? What made them think they had the right to destroy something as rare and precious as a snow leopard for something as unquenchable as greed? She didn’t understand and knew she never would.

She needed to act now or the leopards could be annihilated by the end of the week. It was a race against time and she didn’t know who she was racing with or how to stop them. A fine tremor of rage vibrated through her bones.

She set the receiver on the ground and checked the other snare frequencies. The base camp was too low to catch the signals but they were more elevated here. No point heading home if another trap had been sprung. All the signals beeped slow and constant, indicating the snares were empty.

“Let’s head back to camp.”

Josef nodded.

“Then I’m going to see if I can locate the cats south of the camp.” In the direction of the gunshot.

His skin paled beneath his tan. “We’ll go together—”

“No.” She took in the commanding panorama of mountains and wanted to raise her fists in challenge. “One of us needs to be at base camp in case one of the snares gets tripped. Anji has to take care of the cubs.”

Josef’s blue eyes protested. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I’ll be careful.” Damned if she was going to sit around while some asshole took potshots at her animals.

Josef grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh as he shook her. She blinked at him in shock.

“It is too dangerous,” he repeated firmly.

She broke his grip and glared at him. “There’s no choice.”

“We can monitor the snares and wait for the Trust to send back-up.”

“This country is shut down, Josef. It’ll take weeks to get people in here.” She fisted her hands, wanting to punch something. “I’m not waiting. You’re capable of managing a release on your own and that’s what I’m telling you to do.” Fury against the poacher burned the back of her throat. Anger seared her body.

Josef stood straighter, ready to argue.

“What if he got another one?” Her voice cracked in the morning quiet. She snatched up a rock and hurled it against the canyon wall.

“What if he’s still there, skinning his prize?” Revulsion swirled in his blue eyes, making them darken with rage. “What do you think a man like that would do to woman like you?”

Pent-up energy raged inside her with nowhere to go. “I don’t care!” The thought of these innocent creatures being hurt tore her apart. “I won’t approach if I see anyone.”
Liar, liar pants on fire
. “I’ll track the collars. We’ll send Anji down to the village to hire men to help us search.”

He muttered something blasphemous.

She climbed back on the bike.

His fingers touched her arm. “Axelle, you can’t put yourself at risk.” The gentleness startled her.

“I’ll be back before nightfall.”

“And if you’re not?” His hand dropped away.

“Then I’ll be keeping my promise.” She twisted to hold his stare. “Helping save an endangered species.”

***

Dmitri Volkov knelt on the bare earth, slid his knife into the mechanism that secured the tracking-collar and popped the device. He tossed it aside and rolled the snow leopard onto its back and pulled the plush fur away from clinging sinew. He made a hole in the pelt with the tip of his curved blade and carefully drew the whetted edge down the animal’s still-warm belly. He avoided nicking the gut, and took a moment to remove the intestines and stomach, and throw them in an opalescent heap where they couldn’t mar the prized pelt.

Using fingers and the blade, he worked the skin off the muscle in small, circular motions, revealing an intricate weave of deep pink fibers beneath. The tail took time, as did the legs and the head. The enormous paws were heavy and soft like velvet against his fingers, reminding him of the curtains in his grandmother’s house when he was a young child. He squeezed them regretfully, but refused to think about the animal it had once been.

Fifteen minutes after he’d shot the beast, he had his hide. He climbed to his feet, ignoring the pain in his knee as he batted away clumps of lingering snow. He wiped away a single smear of blood that somehow streaked the inside of his wrist. Then, with agonizing care, he rolled the pelt inside a blanket and tied the roll to the back of his yak.

There were men in Xinjiang who’d pay tens of thousands of dollars for each animal. The rarer they became, the more the pelts were worth. The money would help pay for the transplant his grandson needed, just as soon as he got his family out of Russia. Suddenly wary, he scanned the hillside—heard no one, saw no one. Sweat beaded his upper lip as he stood staring down at the glistening corpse. A sense of danger and urgency drove him even though he was tired and needed rest. He spotted the discarded collar and swore, snatching the thing and striding to the edge of the nearest cliff and flinging it over the edge. Fool. He would be caught out by his own cunning if he wasn’t careful.

The hair on his nape prickled.

He touched the rifle strung across his back like an old friend, the weight feeling right again after all these years. His breath steamed the air as he looked across the narrow corridor that fingered its way between these formidable mountain ranges. The ancient Silk Road was a barren wasteland since Mao Zedong had blocked the eastern passage to China.