Jill squeezed Nate’s hand, hard. She was staring at the fifth figure across the clearing. At first she had the irrational idea that there’d been some crossed wires in time, that they’d plucked some random stranger out of the ether accidentally. For there he stood, becoming clearer by the moment—a muscular form in heavy dark clothes, close-cropped blond hair, stern, square, craggy face.
The man was staring at her. He stood stiffly, arms at his side, face struggling with… fear? Confusion? Rage?
Denton found his legs and took a shaky step, going over to the rabbi and grabbing him in a bear hug, to which the rabbi said, “Oooff!”
“Jill? That’s not Anatoli. Who is it?” Nate asked in a quiet voice.
His question, at last, triggered a memory, a memory aided by the cold white-blue eyes coming into focus. Only they weren’t cold now; they were burning, staring at her.
“Oh, god,” she muttered.
She saw the same recognition on his face, at the same instant. And then he moved, fluidly, taking a step back and going into a wide stance. Denton and Rabbi Handalman were chatting, oblivious, as the man brought up his hands, revealing the presence of a heavy old-fashioned handgun. He pointed at Jill.
“Freeze!” he screamed, his voice loud and rich with emotion. He aimed the gun from one to another of them as Denton and the rabbi turned to regard him with surprise. “Into a line—move!” He motioned with the gun.
Jill shared a look with Nate—a look of frustration and hopelessness that they had come back all this way only to be captured so easily and so soon. But the four of them did as they were told, moving into a line. Rabbi Handalman was on her right.
“Who is this?” the rabbi demanded. “What’s going on?”
Jill shook her head tightly and spoke to the gunman: “It’s all right. You’re back home now.”
“Yeah, take it easy,” Denton said soothingly.
Nate was still holding her hand, trying to draw her toward him, behind him, to protect her. She resisted. If this was anyone’s battle it was hers.
The man with the gun continued to swing it from one of them to another, staring especially at her and Nate. His widely planted legs were shaking so badly it was a miracle they held him up. The woods were now coming into sharp focus around them and his eyes darted here and there as if trying to get his bearings. In the last of the fading light his face was white, covered with a thin sheen of sweat. He was panicked, Jill realized, completely and utterly out of his head. He might do anything. And for the first time she was genuinely afraid.
“Lieutenant Farris?” she said in a loud, soothing voice. “Are you ill? Could you please lower the gun?”
With great deliberation he straightened his body and pointed the gun, in one extended hand, right at her head. The intention on his face was murderous. And then those white-blue eyes rolled back and Calder Farris collapsed into a dead faint.
They debated what to do with Farris’s unconscious body for several minutes. Denton was cold, freezing his ass off cold, and he knew they had to find shelter soon. Nate and Jill wanted to take Farris with them. Apparently, he was an agent with the Department of Defense, someone Jill had met before. Denton wasn’t sure why they would want to drag around a man who was out for their blood, but it was certainly possible that if they left him alone he would freeze to death.
The four of them formed a square, carrying the man like pallbearers. Jill’s short stature tilted the burden in her direction and Denton had to walk with his knees bent. And he was dressed for ninety-degree weather, so there was nothing between him and the frigid air but a pair of jeans and sandals. All in all, it was excruciatingly uncomfortable, not to mention a nice, sharp dose of fifty-fifty reality. Welcome home!
Yet nothing—not the pain in his knees or the ice forming between his teeth—could touch Denton’s elation. They were back; they were honest-to-God, no-freaking-way back. He didn’t know how it had happened, but he figured there was an explanation, technical as hell, and he’d hear it eventually. For now, he was busy calculating all the nifty stuff he was going to be able to do, imminently, like eat ice cream and watch the tube for about a week solid. And then there were, oh, women.
At that thought he felt a twinge of conscience. He and Eyanna never had hooked up, and he’d remained celibate the last few months in Khashta. He didn’t want to slip back into his old ways now. But he knew that was not going to happen; he would never be that person again. In fact, it would be interesting to find out who he would be now that he was back on his home turf.
They took more wrong turns than they needed to. Just about the time all of them were utterly exhausted, they saw lights through the trees. They followed the lights until they saw a tiny house. They paused at the edge of the woods, dropping their burden none too gently.
“This is Anatoli Nikolai’s house?” the rabbi prompted, breathing hard. “Does anyone remember?”
“It could be,” Nate said, squinting through the darkness.
It had been a long time—for all of them. But Denton had spent more time in the house than any of the others.
“I’ll check,” he volunteered. He slipped away toward the house and heard someone come after him. He turned to see Nate’s dark head. The young man smiled.
“Backup,” he whispered.
Denton’s heart warmed and he returned the smile. He was back among his own kind and it felt pretty amazing. He gave Nate’s shoulder a squeeze.
On the right side of the back wall a window was lit up. They crept closer, sticking to the shadows, and peeked inside. It was Anatoli’s kitchen. Denton remembered the tiny table and tinier chairs, the stove so old it had a propane tank on the side, the dinged wooden clock on the wall with the painting of the little Polish Mädchen.
Sitting at the table, sipping cups of tea, were two men. One was medium-sized, with dark hair and a young, conservative face. The other was a huge guy who could have doubled as a professional wrestler. They both wore plain white button-down shirts, dark pants, and ties. They had crew cuts and there was a mirror-shiny polish on their thick-soled shoes. Nate pulled Denton backward. They exchanged a grim look.
Anatoli? Nate mouthed. Denton nodded.
They made their way around the house, peering into darkened windows. On the second window they tried, something blocked their view—an X shape made by boards nailed to the inside of the frame. Nate peered into one of the openings left by the boards and Denton another. The hall door had been left open a few inches, allowing light into the room. Directly beneath the window was a bed, which appeared to be occupied, but the light and the angle made it impossible to see who or what might be in it.
Still, Denton knew it was Anatoli. He felt a surge of anger. Those goons had better not have hurt the old man.
Nate tugged on his sleeve and the two of them dodged through the shadows back to the others. The big guy was still lying on the ground as heavily as a manikin made out of cement.
“Well?” the rabbi asked.
“It’s Anatoli’s place all right,” Denton answered, “and I think he’s in there. But he has company. Two military types are in the house. They have him locked up in one of the bedrooms.”
Nate nodded, a little breathless. “They’re DoD. I recognize one of the men from Seattle.” He looked at Jill. “It’s the guy who came to the restaurant looking for me.”
Rabbi Handalman tugged at his beard. “Why are they still here? It’s been months. Anatoli had only one copy of the manuscript, yes?”
“Actually,” Jill said distractedly, “it’s only been five days. At least, that’s what we were aiming for.”
“Cool!” Denton said, having no problem with the concept.