“We need to find the wife,” Andreyev replied. Elizabeth Singer would know the location of the Bull, and her children would be all the leverage needed to make her talk. “Put a team on these people,” he said, nodding at the figures on the infra-red display.
They were gathered around the grieving woman, and he felt sorry for her in the way one might pity a cat pining for a mate that had been hit by a car. Sad, but ultimately the fault of the animal for playing on the road. “One of them will lead us to the target,” Andreyev said.
Taras nodded, and Andreyev stepped away from the edge of the roof, heading for the stairwell. A hot bath then perhaps a cognac before lunch would warm him up after exposure to the elements, he thought. He hurried inside, eager to get to his chauffeur-driven Bentley Mulsanne, which waited on the street a couple blocks away.
Chapter 54
Nikita Kolokov was furious. He’d spent days tracking the American pilot across Nuristan. Despite the mistakes of others, he’d executed the mission to near perfection. The first error had been the trigger-happy operator who was supposed to disable the Osprey once it was on the ground and the American troops had deployed. Instead, he had opened fire on the aircraft as it had been coming in to land. Thankfully, Floyd had not been one of those to die on impact, but the rocket had made their job much harder. The Americans had been ready for a fight, rather than running into the ambush Kolokov had planned. He had lost five men to the Americans, but they had been in a strategically inferior situation and their defeat had been inevitable. Kolokov could have engaged them far more effectively if he hadn’t been under strict orders to capture Floyd alive. So five comrades died — six if he included the trigger-happy operator, who was quietly executed for his failure.
Now, after everything he’d done to successfully entrap Floyd, another trigger-happy maniac had blown up their target, along with half a mountain.
The loss of their target wasn’t Kolokov’s only problem. He now had eleven wounded soldiers and had lost another three to the explosion. He had no idea of the identity of the man killed with Floyd, or where the Bell GlobalRanger helicopter had gone, but he was certain he would find out. Some intelligence analyst would compile a comprehensive report. Kolokov would do his best to ensure the bony finger of blame stayed away from him.
He was walking through the smoldering forest amid the embers of the fire. Trees had been incinerated, leaving only blackened stumps here and there. The mountainside was a shattered mess of boulders and rocks, and the earth itself had been scorched by the powerful explosion. The scent of rocket fuel lingered in the air, mingling with the stench of ash, burned flesh and metal. The three men he’d lost were simply gone. There were no bodies to bring home. Kolokov shook his head at the scene of devastation.
“Come on,” he commanded. “Gather the wounded. We’re moving out.”
Nestor, his second-in-command, started barking orders. His men abandoned the search for survivors and started moving toward the two flying tanks, helping the wounded as they went.
Kolokov kicked aside a smoldering chunk of charcoal. Part of a tree? Or a person? He couldn’t tell and didn’t care. He wanted to get as far away from the scene of failure as possible. He hurried toward the Mil Mi-24 helicopters and tried to avoid making eye contact with the pilot of the aircraft on the left. If he spent too long looking at the sheepish man who’d fired the missiles that had killed their target he might feel impelled to execute him instantly, and that would not be wise considering the pilot was needed to get them out of this godforsaken place.
Kolokov chose to ride in the other aircraft and consoled himself with the knowledge that the man would be properly dealt with when they returned to Moscow.
Chapter 55
Justine was on her own, sitting on the couch in Jessie’s office. She’d needed some time by herself. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how she’d move on from this, but she had to find a way to function at the very least. She was no use to anyone in this state. She felt exhausted. Her eyes burned with the salt of so many tears, and her mind was numb.
She checked her watch, it was 11:05 a.m., and got to her feet. She left the room, stepping into an open-plan office that was largely empty. The nearest desks were vacant, but a couple of investigators were working at the back of the room. Justine avoided meeting their eyes.
She hurried to the meeting room on the corner of the thirty-sixth floor, knocked, and entered to find it empty. She saw the phone receiver she had dropped on the floor had been replaced. She walked over to it, and shivered as she touched it. She looked around the room where her life had changed forever, suddenly struck by the intense desire not to be there. Not just in the room, but in the office, maybe not in Private at all. Without Jack there was nothing for her here, and the thought of spending each and every day working at an organization where she would constantly be reminded of him filled her with dread.
She left the room and almost walked into Jessie who was coming along the corridor outside. She looked pale and her eyes were puffy with grief.
“Mo-bot is in the computer room, working. She’s pretty cut up, but losing herself in the machines is her way of dealing with it.”
Hearing Jessie talk about the grief of others made Justine choke up. Jack had meant so much to so many people, she felt selfish only to have thought of how his death had impacted her. Fresh tears ran down her cheeks. She wiped them away.
“I just don’t know what to do,” she said. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”
Jessie put a consoling hand on Justine’s arm. “Me neither.”
The warmth of human touch caused Justine to break down again, and she shuddered as she sobbed.
“Come on,” Jessie said. “We should get you out of here. I’m supposed to relieve Alvarez and Taft in a couple hours. Let’s go now. Beth and the children will give us something to focus on. They need us.”
Justine nodded and allowed herself to be steered through the office to the elevators. The receptionists looked at her with sadness and sympathy but said nothing as they stepped into the car that would take them down to the parking garage. Minutes later, they were on the road to the safe house in Rye.
The gray winter light robbed everything of color and much of the world was shrouded in thick snow, creating a canvas of grief onto which Justine projected memories of her time with Jack. She’d loved him from the moment they’d met. Others knew him as a tough man of action, but she’d seen a different side. He’d had a generous spirit and felt deep compassion toward anyone who experienced suffering. And then there was his sense of humor. Not a day had passed when he hadn’t managed to make her smile. As the drab landscape sped by, she wondered whether she would ever laugh again. They’d had their ups and downs, but after the Moscow investigation Justine had felt things might be getting serious. She winced at the thought of all the moments they would never have together. Wherever she looked, she saw images of an unlived future. A wedding. Children. A life together growing old. All gone. Taken by violence. She wept, but kept looking out of the window because these shades of what she’d lost were all she had left of Jack.
Jessie didn’t say anything, and when Justine glanced at her she saw a grim-faced woman who was trying to weather her own storm of grief. They travelled without speaking, with nothing more than the rhythm of the wheels rolling over the highway joins to break the silence.
Sixty minutes after leaving the office, they rolled into the driveway of the shorefront house on Pine Island. There was a blue Chevy Suburban parked near the front door.