“You did everything you could,” I said to Floyd. “If there had been another way, you would have taken it.”
“I guess,” he replied. “But it doesn’t ease the pain.”
“Time dulls that. It heals like a scar. It’s only on bad days that it feels like a fresh wound again.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
“Let me check if I can see anything out there,” I suggested.
I pressed my face into the gap as far as it would go.
“Just scorched earth,” I said. “I can’t hear any movement.”
I withdrew and we carried on shifting stone.
“Hopefully they think we’re dead,” Floyd remarked.
I nodded in agreement. “Do you know why they want you?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been around. Done my fair share of things people might want revenge for, but since they didn’t kill me, I’m guessing they’re not going to all this trouble to settle an old score. They want something else, and it’s been playing on my mind because I don’t have the first idea what it is.”
I knew he’d be bound by oaths of secrecy, but I sensed genuine puzzlement and got the impression he was telling the truth.
We worked for another hour before we finally cleared the entrance enough for us to wriggle out. It was cold and dark. Steam and smoke rose off the burned forest.
“You got a map?” I asked.
Floyd shook his head. “It was in my pack. I ditched it to get into the cave.”
There was no point looking for it, the remnants would be among the ash and cinders that surrounded us. I cursed myself for leaving the map Chris and John had given me in the chopper.
“My feel is the pass is over there,” I said, pointing at two peaks on the other side of the valley. “The border is just beyond it.”
“That’s my read, too,” he replied. “Looks pretty simple. If two pilots can’t plot a course there, I don’t know who can.”
I smiled, and we started walking.
Chapter 60
A squad car had arrived at the house within minutes of Jessie calling the police. Now the place was a major crime scene with detectives and FBI trawling over every inch of the property, looking for evidence and examining everything they found. Justine sat in an FBI incident-response truck and watched Jessie through the window. The head of Private New York knew some of the agents on the scene and was talking to a couple of them who’d sat in on Justine’s interview. The Detective in Charge, Charlie Nightwell, had led the interview and she crossed the driveway now to join Jessie’s conversation with the special agents. Charlie Nightwell was the kind of tough New York cop who looked as though she’d stare into the face of evil without blinking. She exuded strength, and, in that moment, Justine longed to be like her. Justine used to think she was tough, but she certainly didn’t feel that way now. She was far more vulnerable than she’d ever realized.
Beyond Jessie, Nightwell and the two special agents, forensic investigators were working the scene alongside uniform cops and FBI agents. A photographer was taking pictures of Roni’s body. Taft’s was hidden by a screen, but Justine couldn’t shake the memory of the gruesome headshot he took. These two brave people had been cut down before their time. They’d been murdered while trying to protect others. There had to be justice, or if not that, vengeance.
Justine had given her statements and was glad to be alone. Jack’s death had created a gaping wound in her soul, and this professional failure only deepened it. She hadn’t felt so low in years. Guilt gnawed at her, alongside the grief she felt for Jack. The deaths of those two agents were on her. If she hadn’t been so caught up in her own loss, would she have noticed a tail? Would she have suggested they sweep the car for bugs before leaving the New York office? Justine would never know for certain if they had been followed or what she could have done differently, but she found it hard to shake the feeling that if she’d been at her sharpest, those two people would still be alive.
The trailer door opened and Justine steeled herself to put on the brave face she reserved for strangers. It faded away the moment she saw Mo-bot and Sci climb the steps.
“Oh, Jus,” Mo-bot said, crossing the truck to embrace her. “I’m so sorry. Jessie told us what happened.”
“We lost them,” Justine responded tearfully. “They killed two of our own and they took Beth and the children.”
“They’ll pay for this,” Sci said. “We’ll make sure of it.”
“Have you told the Feds about Andreyev?” Mo-bot asked.
Justine nodded.
“That might explain why he’s gone to ground,” Mo-bot replied. “The billfold showed up on a flight to Moscow.”
“You think he’s left the country?” Justine asked.
Mo-bot shook her head. “I checked immigration photos of everyone on the flight. No record of him on the plane. My guess is he gave it to someone else to make it look like he’d flown. We sent a couple of operatives to his apartment. It’s empty. He has what he wanted. He can burn his cover.”
“What do we do now?” Justine asked, wishing Jack was there to guide them.
“We’re going to find Beth and her children,” Mo-bot replied. “Whatever it takes. We will find them and we will bring them back. And then Andreyev will pay for what he’s done.”
Chapter 61
The cold burned, scalding my extremities, causing tingling pain in my hands and feet. Floyd and I were dressed for the conditions, but even these clothes weren’t designed for nights on a mountain. Any normal expedition would now be in a tent, tucked in sleeping bags, but we weren’t a normal expedition; we were fighting for our lives.
We’d lost our gear and were trying to make it to the Pakistani border before we died of exposure. We were high up the mountain, maybe ten or twelve thousand feet, close to the pass that I remembered being marked on the map Chris and John had given me. I’d been climbing a few times in the past with buddies who were addicted to the adventure of scaling mountains. Here, high up in the peaks of the Hindu Kush, with the stars so close it felt as though I could reach out and touch them, with air so thin and cold each breath was an intoxication and the majesty of the Earth stretched out far below, I finally understood why the mountains caught and held my climbing friends in their addictive grip. I was on the very edge of survival. Maybe it was only by coming so close to death that I could fully appreciate the beauty of life.
We were following the winter trail up to the pass. From memory, I estimated it was a short distance from the pass to the border, located on the other side of this mountain, in the next valley. The summit loomed above us, glinting in the moonlight. Every crystalline sparkle reminded me how cold it was, but I couldn’t look away because it was a wondrous sight. The sides were steep and snow clung to them in patches, on top of ice that was diamond blue. The peak itself rose into the sky like a jagged tooth, reaching for stars and galaxies that were rich in depth and color. There weren’t many more beautiful places to die.
Floyd trudged beside me, but we didn’t talk. Our boots crunched ice and snow, and our breathing was fast and labored, made worse by regular sections that required us to scramble up steep runs of sheer rock. All around us the world was still. No sane creatures would travel here, particularly at night.
Down there in the valley where air and energy were cheap, we’d chatted about our respective military experiences, discussed the merits of different aircraft we’d flown, traded war stories and anecdotes about those we’d served with. He’d told me about the men who’d been killed when the Osprey had been shot down, and I had shared my similar experience. It wasn’t something I often discussed, but it was cathartic to share with someone who truly understood.