He had spoken about Beth and the children, and asked me questions about them; how they were and whether they were safe. I told him what we knew about the man posing as Beth’s father, and assured him his family were safe with my team.
Then I spoke about Justine. I told Floyd how much she meant to me and spoke about her in terms that would have made a love-struck teenager ashamed, but there was no one to hear me except the mountains and Floyd, who was expressing similar emotions about those close to him. I didn’t give voice to my darker worry. I had no doubt Feo and Dinara thought we were dead. If they’d managed to escape, I expected they would have informed Justine by now, and I couldn’t stand the thought of her suffering. I didn’t share that concern with Floyd because if Justine had been told we were dead, it was likely Beth knew too.
The mountain had silenced our easy chatter halfway up. We saved our breath for the arduous climb. When I looked at Floyd now, I saw the familiar, grim struggle of a man determined to push his body beyond its natural limits. I probably wore the same bleak expression. It was hard going, and a small part of me just wanted to lie down in the snow and rest until all the pain was gone.
“Nearly there,” I grunted, and Floyd nodded in reply.
We pushed on the last few steps and then saw the pass open up as we turned a bend that marked the shoulder of the mountain. There was a relatively flat gap between the peak of this mountain and its neighbor, and we could see clear sky and distant ranges.
I looked at Floyd and forced a smile, and he offered one in reply.
We pressed on, trudging through deep snow for another quarter of a mile until we earned the reward our exhaustion deserved. The pass ended abruptly, and beneath us was a sheer cliff that dropped a few hundred feet before going into a gentler slope. Far below, on the valley floor, beyond an expanse of forest that covered the bottom of the mountain, I could see lights and the faint outlines of small buildings. They stood beside a single-track road, which would have been lost to darkness had it not been for the headlights of a truck approaching the buildings. We had reached civilization, and the sight sent my spirits soaring.
I could see it had the same effect on Floyd because he grinned at me, relief in his expression.
“This way,” I said, gesturing toward a trail that was almost lost to snow. It would take us east, leading, if I remembered the map correctly, to the border and to safety.
Chapter 62
The valley was a few blissful degrees warmer than the pass. It had taken us three hours to stagger and stumble our way down the mountain. We were breathless and exhausted by the time we reached the snow-covered forest that spread across the lower slopes. We picked our way between tall cedars and pines, and soon the ground started to level out. We were on the gentle slope that led to a group of buildings we assumed were the border station.
“Look,” Floyd said, pointing through the trees.
I saw a light and we both picked up pace. My legs had been pummeled by the ascent but the descent had been worse, fighting gravity with every step, resisting the pull of the ground with muscles that had very little left to give.
I don’t know whether it was my bleary eyes, general exhaustion or fogged mind, but I didn’t realize our mistake until it was too late.
The light we’d assumed was the border post was in fact a landing light fixed to the undercarriage of a Hind helicopter, which stood in a clearing not fifty paces from us.
I motioned to Floyd to stop, and we both dropped into a crouch.
My senses were suddenly alert. I heard everything: the creaking of branches moving in the wind, the distant hoot of an owl, the brush of pine needles against each other, and the low chatter of men talking in Russian. I saw a unit of twenty in snow camouflage standing around the helicopter. This was the group that had been hunting Floyd, I was sure of it. There was only one chopper. Perhaps the other had left already. None of the men appeared to be injured, so I guessed the first had been used to transport the wounded who would have undoubtedly been caught in the rocket blast. The men were just standing around, smoking and talking. Then the reason for their presence here became clear. A pilot in conventional green fatigues emerged from beneath the aircraft clutching a wrench and spoke to a tall man in snow camouflage. He had the bearing of a commander. They must have been forced to land here and make repairs.
I signaled to Floyd to go back the way we’d come. The chopper stood between us and the border post. We’d have to give it a wide berth if we were going to avoid being spotted. We moved back slowly and silently, but we’d only gone a few yards when I saw something that stopped me in my tracks: the green glow of infra-red goggles pointed directly toward us.
Chapter 63
The Russian brought the goggles down from his eyes and ran over to his commander. They exchanged some words and the commander took the IR goggles, pointing them in our direction.
“Don’t move,” I whispered.
I saw the commander looking directly at us. My heart sank when he lowered the goggles. His eyes shone with the hunger of a predator, and there was a faint smile of satisfaction on his face.
“Run!” I yelled, and we turned and sprinted east.
At the same moment, the commander barked at his men, who instantly went from casual soldiers to disciplined hunters. The forest filled with shouts and the crashing of boots, and then came the gunfire. I stayed as close as I could to Floyd because I knew they wouldn’t risk killing him. The gunfire was intended to confuse and intimidate, so I tuned out the fear and harnessed the adrenaline.
Floyd and I were making good progress. The dangerous part would be when we turned south for the border post. I could see men in camouflage gear tracking us, running through the trees, trying to cut us off to the south. They moved like shadows whipping through the forest. We had to outrun them. The border post was about two hundred yards beyond the chopper. Guards had come out of the building to look in the direction of the gunfire.
“Come on,” I said to Floyd, and we pivoted south, sprinting through the trees.
I lifted my legs high to avoid fallen branches and roots, but still I stumbled. Floyd did too, but neither of us fell. Flames burst around us, spitting from muzzles, and bullets shredded the forest, but we pressed through the storm of gunfire, driven by thoughts of the people we loved.
A man stepped out from behind a tree and swung the butt of his machine gun at Floyd’s face, but I bundled him to the ground and we tumbled at the man’s feet. I jumped up as he swung again, blocked the blow with my left forearm, and drove the palm of my right hand into his chin. His head snapped back and he let out a pained groan. I seized the opportunity to punch his exposed throat. He instinctively raised his hands to the injury and I hit him in the solar plexus, before grabbing his gun and wrestling it off him. I saw two other men coming through the trees, quickly turned the machine gun on them and fired. They went down and Floyd ran over to them. I drove the machine gun’s butt into the face of the man clutching his neck, knocking him out cold. I heard shouts behind me and turned and opened fire.
I saw shadows scatter as I ran to join Floyd. More gunfire and shouts followed, but Floyd and I weren’t listening. We were running. We broke the treeline at a sprint, racing toward the border post and a group of jittery guards. They raised their rifles and barked commands, but there was no way we were stopping.