prohibited.”
“Then why hasn’t someone put a stop to it?”
She nodded toward Colonel Suvorov. “How much do you think he gets paid?”
Cutter had no idea, so he shrugged.
She frowned, then said into his ear, “The equivalent of about fifty bucks a month by the Russian government. That’s all they pay for a colonel like him this far out on the fringes of their former empire. The others make even less. Many far less, and probably gamble it all away first chance they get.”
She took a breath before continuing. “How much do you think he makes doing whatever chores Mr. Moray’s operation has him performing on the side?”
Again, Cutter didn’t know, but he could guess. He shrugged. “More. A lot more. A hell of a lot more.”
“Right. A heck of a lot more. Same with the miners. And with most of Russia in the same miserably corrupted state, it is easy to overlook a single mining site that is making money in defiance of the UN’s various decrees. Even one this big. Plus, those pompous fools at the UN are too busy hosting dinner parties to notice what is going on anyway. As long as their checks clear.”
Grinning wryly, Cutter pulled away and glanced at Gauge, who remained unmoving and poker-faced with his arms crossed over his chest and thumbs pointing upward. Morgan really knew her shit, even though she would never use such a foul and nasty word to describe it.
He let the matter drop as the helicopter continued to circle above the mining site.
Colonel Suvorov shifted positions and slid the forward side door open, creating a loud rush of wind that filled the interior. The air smelled dusty and slightly of pine. The man grabbed the side rail next to the door and hung out over the edge, looking downward.
Cutter moved into a squatting position next to the man and squinted against the onrush of air as he peered through the open doorway and down at the site.
Below him, nothing was stirring.
This late in the day? Something should be moving. Trucks hauling supplies? Men going to and fro? Some smoke or dust trails at least. He followed the two narrow roads leading out of the area with his eyes, searching for any vehicular traffic along them.
Nothing . Nothing at all . Weird.
Then, catching his eye, he spotted something. There was a figure moving far down below. It was running across a barren stretch of gray, which could only be crushed gravel.
What the—?
The hairs on Cutter’s arms all stood on end at once, and an icy chill tickled his spine.
It was a guy. He was running for his life.
What the hell was he running from?
~18~
SHARON CUTTER
Seeing the guy below, running for his life, reminded Cutter of the day he’d lost his wife. It was hard not to be reminded of her. But, sadly, she’d never had the opportunity to run, and he could imagine hearing her anguished cries over the beating of the rotors and the whining of the twin engines of the Mi-8.
Those same screams had cut off so abruptly when she’d died, but those screams had not died out in Cutter’s mind. Never . He heard them day and night, awake or asleep.
Only the alcohol helped keep them at bay.
On that terrible day, he’d tried to get to her. Hell, he’d tried to with every fiber of his being, but Gauge and Morgan had stopped him and dragged him away before the final explosives had gone off and brought the entire mountain down on top of them. Only later had he realized he’d broken his arm at some point along with two ribs. And, somehow, he’d also cracked open his skull in a futile attempt to save her.
There was blood everywhere—all of it was his.
Sharon had repelled deep inside the mine, down to where the artifact had supposedly landed after they had been attacked by some kind of crazed people. Those people looked human, but they didn’t act human.
Cutter had said he would make his descent first, but she argued how he barely knew his elbow from his asshole when it came to this kind of thing, and he would not be able
“Then why hasn’t someone put a stop to it?”
She nodded toward Colonel Suvorov. “How much do you think he gets paid?”
Cutter had no idea, so he shrugged.
She frowned, then said into his ear, “The equivalent of about fifty bucks a month by the Russian government. That’s all they pay for a colonel like him this far out on the fringes of their former empire. The others make even less. Many far less, and probably gamble it all away first chance they get.”
She took a breath before continuing. “How much do you think he makes doing whatever chores Mr. Moray’s operation has him performing on the side?”
Again, Cutter didn’t know, but he could guess. He shrugged. “More. A lot more. A hell of a lot more.”
“Right. A heck of a lot more. Same with the miners. And with most of Russia in the same miserably corrupted state, it is easy to overlook a single mining site that is making money in defiance of the UN’s various decrees. Even one this big. Plus, those pompous fools at the UN are too busy hosting dinner parties to notice what is going on anyway. As long as their checks clear.”
Grinning wryly, Cutter pulled away and glanced at Gauge, who remained unmoving and poker-faced with his arms crossed over his chest and thumbs pointing upward. Morgan really knew her shit, even though she would never use such a foul and nasty word to describe it.
He let the matter drop as the helicopter continued to circle above the mining site.
Colonel Suvorov shifted positions and slid the forward side door open, creating a loud rush of wind that filled the interior. The air smelled dusty and slightly of pine. The man grabbed the side rail next to the door and hung out over the edge, looking downward.
Cutter moved into a squatting position next to the man and squinted against the onrush of air as he peered through the open doorway and down at the site.
Below him, nothing was stirring.
This late in the day? Something should be moving. Trucks hauling supplies? Men going to and fro? Some smoke or dust trails at least. He followed the two narrow roads leading out of the area with his eyes, searching for any vehicular traffic along them.
Nothing . Nothing at all . Weird.
Then, catching his eye, he spotted something. There was a figure moving far down below. It was running across a barren stretch of gray, which could only be crushed gravel.
What the—?
The hairs on Cutter’s arms all stood on end at once, and an icy chill tickled his spine.
It was a guy. He was running for his life.
What the hell was he running from?
~18~
SHARON CUTTER
Seeing the guy below, running for his life, reminded Cutter of the day he’d lost his wife. It was hard not to be reminded of her. But, sadly, she’d never had the opportunity to run, and he could imagine hearing her anguished cries over the beating of the rotors and the whining of the twin engines of the Mi-8.
Those same screams had cut off so abruptly when she’d died, but those screams had not died out in Cutter’s mind. Never . He heard them day and night, awake or asleep.
Only the alcohol helped keep them at bay.
On that terrible day, he’d tried to get to her. Hell, he’d tried to with every fiber of his being, but Gauge and Morgan had stopped him and dragged him away before the final explosives had gone off and brought the entire mountain down on top of them. Only later had he realized he’d broken his arm at some point along with two ribs. And, somehow, he’d also cracked open his skull in a futile attempt to save her.
There was blood everywhere—all of it was his.
Sharon had repelled deep inside the mine, down to where the artifact had supposedly landed after they had been attacked by some kind of crazed people. Those people looked human, but they didn’t act human.
Cutter had said he would make his descent first, but she argued how he barely knew his elbow from his asshole when it came to this kind of thing, and he would not be able
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