They skirted a lake with high banks and cool, deep water. The far side was taken up by a rushing waterfall, torrents of white water cascading down to destroy the mirror-like surface. Though the lake would provide a good place to wash and its high streams a source of drinking water, none of them paid it a second glance. They’d had their fill of water for now.
A narrow crevice in the land caused a half-hour delay. The bottom was overgrown and treacherous, and the four soldiers were very aware that any kind of injury in this situation could be life threatening. They were careful and took their time, and came at last to the foothills of the mountain.
The slopes were barren. The dark mouths of caves dotted the rocky walls a few hundred feet up.
“Typhoon shelter,” Mai pointed out. She checked the position of the sun. “It’s getting toward midday. We should rest a few hours and then continue.”
“It’s not that hot.” Smyth argued.
“But we’re stopping anyway,” Drake said. Smyth knew dehydration and weariness were substantial dangers. The marine was just playing the bad-boy role. Mai sank to the ground with her back against a stout evergreen and cracked the top of her last bottled water. Drake dropped down beside her.
“The concern is a lack of food,” Drake muttered. “I expected some kind of animal out here.”
“It’s a small island,” Mai said practically. “Besides we’re only half way through the interior.”
He fingered the small handgun, reassuring himself it was still there. “Be nice to eat real meat tonight.”
“We could always roast Smyth.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Drake studied the tall trees, the green leaves, and the thick vegetation that covered the ground. Forest sights and sounds flittered intermittently past his consciousness; sunlight sparkled and spangled through drifting beams of light.
“There is no immediate shelter near the beach,” Mai said. “Which means we’re going to have to move inland. Maybe even as far as the caves if nothing else arises. Nothing close to the lake offered any chance of shelter.”
“I noticed.”
Mai evened out the correct amount of rations. “Almost out. It’s nearly time to start thinking about snares and such.”
Drake wasn’t so worried about the food. Between them, they were four highly proficient soldiers, trained to the highest levels. They could find food in hell if need be. What troubled him was their next move.
“We aimed north for two days,” he said. “The current was weak. The prevailing winds were favorable. We can’t be far from the Korean shore by my estimate.”
Mai shrugged. “Might as well be a thousand miles.”
“Well we can’t stay here. Every day we do brings us closer to death. Survival is out of the question unless we find the mainland, Mai.”
The Japanese agent stopped chewing and placed her hand on his arm. “Relax. You don’t have to be that Drake. The one who makes it all better. Just sit back and we’ll see where the next hour takes us. And then the next day.”
They journeyed around the mountain and headed back into the forest.
CHAPTER NINE
Alicia watched the geeks at work.
In her heart of hearts, she wished she was anywhere but here. Preferably with her own little geek. Even more preferably with some kind of meaningful life. But fate kept dealing her the Joker card and she kept playing the role. Drake valued her, she knew, and so did most of the others in their quiet way, but life for her was a rolling road to nowhere. It sure as hell wasn’t going to stop for long with this team in Washington DC.
The security monitors showed the journalist was back. Sarah Moxley was a bloodhound. To date no one had offered up a single word, but there she was, sniffing around, testing their commitment, chasing an errant firefly that just kept flitting out of her reach. Today, Alicia felt in the mood to give her a word, probably even two.
Still nothing from Drake. Alicia and the rest of the team had to assume their colleague had survived. The last communication said as much. The very fact it was Drake and Mai remained the biggest factor in their favor. And poor old Jonathan Gates, despite his position as the Secretary of Defense, had become embroiled in the political mess whilst constantly banging his head against a North Korean brick wall.
Alicia sighed to herself. The deeper the secret the harder it was to take seriously. Their team still remained relatively unknown.
She poured another coffee, her fifth of the day, and replaced the pot noisily. No one looked up. Hayden and her new poodle, Kinimaka, were poring over files sent from the local PD, folders containing information on the perp, Michael Markel, the thirty-five-year-old teacher, and the three people who had died in the botched assassination— the two bodyguards and the Senator’s aide, Audrey Smalls, and even Senator Turner himself.
“Problem is,” Hayden was saying, “these nut jobs don’t need a reason to do what they do. We can’t simply put a pin in a reason and hope it sticks.”
“Turner will only accept FBI protection for another twenty-four hours.” Kinimaka pointed to a nearby screen where an email had just popped up. “And that’s only out of deference to the other victims.”
Hayden shook her head. Alicia tuned them out. Her gaze fell on Torsten Dahl, sat across the room. The Swede looked bored, anxious and pent-up all at the same time, probably reflecting her own state of mind.
She remembered the moment of Senator Turner’s attempted assassination with vivid realism. The blank look on the killer’s face, the empty, shark-like eyes, the obvious competence with which the loner teacher, without any sign of a past record, handled a gun.
The answer surely lay buried in his past. Somewhere.
Alicia drained the last of her coffee, now wired up to the max, but with nowhere to go and nothing to do. Even Komodo Trevor — as she called him — had disappeared on another errand, this time without his little girlfriend. She quickly checked her cellphone — no messages. Her biker friends from Luxembourg hadn’t been in touch for a few days now. A movement caught her eye on the security camera, and again, that bloody reporter stepped into view.
Alicia smiled. Time to have a little fun and grab a few minutes of distraction. She slipped out of the room unnoticed and padded down the short hallway to the front door, tapped at a keypad and then let herself out into the sunshine.
Immediately, two sets of shoulders spun toward her.
“Miss Myles!” the female reporter was surprisingly quick. “Do you have time to comment?”
Alicia took a moment to study her. Sarah Moxley was a tall, wiry redhead. Flowing locks fell to the small of her back. Wide eyes were hidden behind thin-framed glasses. Her every movement spoke of urgency, as if she was constantly searching for that big story that continued to elude her.
A potentially dangerous adversary, Alicia catalogued the reporter as her training demanded. Sarah was a tiger made to look like a pussycat.
“Why the hell are you people hanging around out here? I mean, it’s not like there’s bugger all to see.”
The reporter advanced a step. “I’m Sarah Moxley. I work for the Post.” She proffered her ID, making Alicia smirk.
“Miss Moxley, don’t play me for a fool. We both know who everyone is here, don’t we?” She focused on the reporter’s cameraman. “Except you, pretty boy. Anyone ever told you, you look a little like a younger Matt Damon?”
“Alright,” Moxley said without a trace of humility. “Alicia Myles. Ex-British army. Ex rebel. New recruit. Am I right?”
“Not even close.” Alicia stepped forward so the two of them were within touching distance. “Miss Moxley, there’s no story here. You should look elsewhere.”