Black List II Russian WinterChapter 7
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Black List II: Russian WinterChapter 13 free porn video
The snow kicks up along the frozen tundra of White Island, blowing in all directions as the helicopter begins its decent. Men with heavy coats and automatic machine guns filter out of the bunker base.
“This is where we must part, Miss Roberts,” Sergey says.
Samantha has spent most of her time wearing a black hood, not able to see where she was or where she was going. The only time it was taken off was when she had a visitor to her cell or when it was time to eat. Usually the two happened at the same time.
“Where am I?” she asks, though she has never once been given an answer to any question she has asked so far. She doesn’t even expect one now so she is surprised when Sergey gives her one.
“Antarctica. What will most likely be your final resting place,” the man says with a frown. “You are too pretty to waste. I wouldn’t worry too much though. Major Demurer will take good care of you until your time comes. It is your partner that you should worry about.”
“He’ll go to the ends of the earth to hunt all of you down,” she spats venomously.
“You’re at one of those end, my dear,” the man says amusingly. “And I have no doubts to the tenacity that your partner has, which is why I go to wait for him. You see, you are just a pawn in a much larger game being played. Only a few select pawns make it to the other side of the board.”
The helicopter settles on the permafrost, its rotors never coming to a halt. The soldiers wait in place as Major Demurer walks up to the door and opens it. “Ah, our guest has arrived,” he shouts over the roar of the rotors. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll get you settled into your new quarters.”
“You may as well kill me now,” Samantha says defiantly, stepping down to the frozen ground.
“Not yet,” the major says with a grin. “That really all depends on how well you participate.”
“I won’t help you in any way, so you may as well forget it,” the agents retorts with disgust in her voice. If she didn’t have a hood on, she’d spit in the major’s face.
“We’ll see how your attitude changes once you’re settled in,” the man says, his grin turning into a knowing smile. He pulls her along and two men from the escort slip forward to jab their rifles into her back, signaling her to start walking.
“Farwell, Miss Roberts,” Sergey says, closing the door to the helicopter. It lifts off, kicking up more snow as it departs. The wind howls, biting into Samantha’s skin as she is escorted to the door of the base.
“Can I at least get a coat?” she asks with her voice full of spite.
“Don’t worry, we are almost inside where it is warm,” the major replies.
Samantha doesn’t know how she plans to get out of her, and even if it is possible, she has no idea where she will go.
Roger looks at the address once more as he exits the city. He wasn’t aware the Frank McMillan has a place near Fairfax City. The directions take him off the main road, through a series of dirt roads and deep into a forested area. When the road finally comes to a dead end, a small cottage looms at the end with Frank’s car parked in the drive way.
The uneasiness that Roger has had this entire trip fades quickly when he sees the car. He remains on guard though, just in case something is amiss. He parks alongside the vehicle and gets out of his. The wind is a bit icy and it stings him when it cuts through his coat. Picking up his pace, he heads for the front door.
The cottage is simple, almost spartan in appearance. There is nothing on the porch save an old looking rocking chair. Roger notices a light coming out of one of the windows as he walks up the battered steps. When he knocks on the door there is no immediate answer. So he knocks a second time. A muffled voice from inside beckons him to enter. He steps in and sees Frank sitting close to the fireplace with his back toward the door. The only light seems to be coming from the fire that burns furiously in the hearth. Upon seeing his friend, Roger takes off his coat and hangs it on a hook by the door.
“It’s getting a bit chilly out there,” he says, turning to walk further into the living area. ‘Now what is so urgent that you needed me to come out all this way?” No reply follows his question. “Frank?” Rogers says, slowly walking toward the man. That uneasiness he had before returns in a flash and he is instantly on guard once more. As he rounds the front of the chair where Frank is seated, he immediately sees the bullet hole in McMillan’s forehead. Roger has his hand reflexively on the butt of his gun, casting a glance around. He never has the chance to pull the weapon free of its holster. A hard object crashes into the back of his head. Darkness covers him like a blanket as he falls unceremoniously to the sturdy wooden floor.
After Samantha is brought into the base, the hood is removed and she is able to finally get a look at her captors. “So, what is it you have planned for me?” she asks, making sure to line her words with the hatred that she feels.
“In due time, Miss Roberts,” Demurer replies. He pulls out a knife, which causes the woman to finch unconsciously. The man smiles at the slight sight and slides the weapon across the rope that binds her hands together. The agent’s expression changes into one of confusion. This doesn’t go unnoticed either and he says, “You are our guest after all.”
“What?” she asks as she does not fully grasp the situation.
The major turns to one of the men escorting her and says, “Take Miss Roberts to her quarters. I shall see to our other guests.” He turns back to the woman with another smile. “They have just returned from a job outside and will be with you shortly.” He then turns and walks away without another word, leaving the woman with her escort.
“This way, ma’am,” the soldier says, leading her down the hall opposite of the major’s direction.
Roger wakes to find himself sitting on a couch across from Frank’s body, which remains in the chair. He instinctively reaches for his weapon, which he finds is no longer there.
“It’s not there,” a voice says, confirming what he already figured before he even reached for it.
Roger focuses on the shadow in front of him as Strandon walks out into the light of the fire. “You son of a bitch,” he spats. “I knew there was something about you I didn’t like. There was something I just couldn’t quite put my finger on.”
“And it is too bad for you,” Strandon smirks. “You have been a thorn in Winter’s side for far too long. You’ve been a bigger one in mine for that matter.”
“So why Frank?” Roger asks looking toward the man’s dead corpse. There is sadness in Roger’s voice which seems to only amuse Strandon.
“Why your friend?” the man asks mockingly. “Because he was helping the TDF and it would make a good lure for you.” The words are cold. Then a smile forms on the man’s face. “As you can see, it worked. I have also taken two major assets out of the equation.”
“What do you plan to do?” Roger asks snidely. “Hold me here, keep me captive?”
“As a matter of fact, no,” Strandon says with a chuckle. “I’m going to kill you too.”
Roger shifts uncomfortably. He isn’t bound and if he is going to die, why not do so fighting his way out of here? He begins to lift himself out of the couch when Strandon pulls out Roger’s gun and points it at him. “I suggest you stay sitting.”
“Why don’t you just get it over with?” Roger asks. “If I’m going to die, I’d just rather get it over with.”
“I need you to make a phone call and pull Wiltkins off,” Strandon says, showing no emotion whatsoever.
“You honestly think an order to abandon his mission will be all it takes?” the director muses. “You, my friend, are gravely mistaken. Doug will instantly know that something is not right and will continue on with his job until it is finished. Besides, I wouldn’t do it even if you had my mother held captive with a gun to her head.”
“Then I guess I have no reason to keep you alive any longer,” Strandon says.
Samantha sits on a couch centered in the middle of the room. The room isn’t adorned with much except for the couch with a coffee table. An adjoining room holds a nice bed and dresser with a bathroom attached. She sits curiously wondering what the terrorists have in mind. Suddenly the door opens, breaking her from her thought and she springs from the couch when she sees her father standing in the doorway. “Daddy!” she shouts, jumping into his outspread arms.
“Are you okay?” Jonathan asks, squeezing her tight.
“I’m fine,” she answers. “Why are they holding you captive? Why didn’t you tell me I had a sister?”
“I’m sorry, Sam,” he says solemnly. “Please, let’s have a seat. I have some explaining to do.”
They proceed toward the couch. A soldier enters with a tray of food and coffee. As they sit on the couch, the man places the tray on the coffee table and leaves the room, leaving the father and daughter alone.
Gathering his thoughts and thinking of where to begin, Jonathan takes his daughter’s hand into his and starts. “Before you were born, I was sent to Russia on an assignment by the company I worked for. While I was there I met your mother. We had you and a year later she became pregnant with your sister. When my assignment was over, I had to return to the States. I asked you mother to come back and we would get married. Or course she said yes, but she would have to take care of a few things before she could leave Russia.” He pauses and squeezes Samantha’s hand. “I left with you to prepare for her arrival. There were delays with her being able to come and after several months I really began to worry. She was close to giving birth and I didn’t want to miss your sister’s birth or have both of them stuck in a country that she no longer wanted to be in.”
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