The Hunted by Brian Haig

Author:Brian Haig [Haig, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction / General, FIC000000
ISBN: 0446195596
Google: 98pLrOXX4SoC
Amazon: B002J05IOC
Barnesnoble: B002J05IOC
Goodreads: 7453971
Publisher: Hachette Digital, Inc.
Published: 2009-08-12T05:00:00+00:00

It was Saturday, and they had just finished a leisurely lunch at an excellent Georgetown restaurant followed by a brisk stroll along the lovely tree-lined canal to burn off the calories. Harold, the doorman, gave them a distressed look as they passed through the entrance on the ground floor. “Hey, Mr. K,” he said in almost a whisper, “you got guests upstairs.”

“I’m not expecting any.”

“Yeah, well you got ’em. Guys in suits. They flashed badges and… hey, I tried, I swear I did. They wouldn’t take no. They been up there about thirty minutes now.”

Alex and Elena exchanged horrified looks. A race for the elevator and Alex punched six. They sprinted down the hallway. Alex gently pushed Elena aside before he stuffed his key into the door. No need, it swung open. He stepped through the entry, tense and ready to swing.

What a mess. The couches were overturned and knifed open, their interiors gutted, drawers emptied on the floor, lamps broken, books torn apart. The place had been tossed with cruel deliberation. The new furniture and furnishings Elena had picked out with such loving care were ruined. Two men in gray suits loitered by the living room window, ignoring the glorious view of the river while they admired their own handiwork. They took quick looks at Alex and Elena but didn’t budge.

“Who are you?” Alex demanded, making no effort to disguise his fury.

“FBI,” came the prompt reply. Two sets of identification were quickly flashed, then quickly put away.

“Why are you here?”

“Welcome to America, pal,” said one of them with a nasty sneer. “We had a tip you and the wife were harboring a fugitive.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah? Seemed real enough to us.”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“What are you, a lawyer?”

“Show me your warrant or get out.”

They rocked back on their heels and laughed. Take a strike at us, their body language screamed. Look what we did to your home, look at your wife’s horrified face, and do what any real man would do. Go ahead, run across the room—throw your best punch. We’ll slap your ass in cuffs, cart you off like trash, and, as an undesirable, have your ass on the next flight to Moscow.

Alex was mad enough to do it, but at that moment a third man strolled out of their bedroom. Alex glanced in his direction, and froze. The man was tall and thin, dressed in a rumpled trench coat, and wrapped in his arms was their home computer. He looked, in fact, remarkably like his old friend Colonel Volevodz—but it couldn’t be. Not here, not now. This was America.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Konevitch.” Amazing—he even sounded like Volevodz, right down to the clipped arrogance.

Alex drew a few heavy breaths and struggled to get himself under control. He felt a large lump in his throat. He snapped at Volevodz, “I thought your friends in external security were territorial. What are you doing here?”

In Russian, Volevodz replied very coolly, “You’re a wanted felon. I’m here to take you back.”

“Then you’re going to be disappointed,” replied Alex in English.

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