I flew north for thirty minutes, heading deep into the Catskill Mountains. Below us, the bumps in the snow-covered terrain became large distinct folds, and the mountains soared as we flew deeper into the remote wilderness. Narrow roads and tracks criss-crossed the landscape. Floyd knew every landmark and directed me farther and farther into the mountains. Finally, a few miles north of Rondout Reservoir and Sundown Forest, he pointed to a clearing that I could just about make out in the faint moonlight.
“Set us down there,” he said.
I circled round and began my descent.
“What’s down there?” I asked.
Floyd had been cagey about our destination so far.
“Beth and I had a go-to place in case she and the kids ever needed to lie low,” he replied. “Somewhere they’d be safe if I was ever captured. At least, it was supposed to be.”
“But you have another one?” I guessed.
And when I looked down, to the north of the clearing I saw hints of a structure through the snow-covered trees.
Floyd nodded. “Like you said, it isn’t paranoia. It’s about being careful.”
The clearing wasn’t much bigger than a baseball diamond. I took us down slowly. When we were on the ground, I powered down the H125 and we stepped out into the brutal chill of a Catskill winter’s night.
“I bought this place using a dummy corporation a few years back,” Floyd said as we trudged through the snow. “Land here is cheap. Picked up most of this side of the mountain and the cabin. It’s somewhere we can come if things ever go real bad.”
He took us through a gap in the trees and we followed a trail north of the clearing. I saw a small cabin ahead, tucked almost out of sight. It was the kind of place someone could disappear.
“What do you think they’re after?” Justine asked.
“Three months ago, I flew a team into Belarus. We were tasked with stealing data and documents from the home of Konstantin Roslov, a Russian SVR operative who was believed to be coordinating operations across Europe.”
“And?” I asked, the word hanging before me in a cloud as I exhaled.
“I went in with the team, probably shouldn’t have,” Floyd replied. “But Roslov wasn’t there and the place was empty, so it was a safe target. We were under orders to make it look like a random burglary. So I took something.”
“Spoils of war,” I remarked.
Floyd nodded. “It’s in this cabin,” he said, pointing toward the tiny building.
Trees towered over it, with trunks like the legs of giants tightly packed as far as the eye could see. Shutters covered the cabin windows. Floyd pulled back a panel by the front door to reveal a key safe. He rolled the tumblers, opened the safe and pulled out two keys. He used them to unlock the front door and let us in.
He picked up a battery-operated lamp and switched it on. We walked through a small hallway into a rustic living room. A couple of couches covered in blankets faced a large fireplace, and historical military paintings hung on the wood-paneled walls. Floyd went to a sideboard that was covered in trophies and mementos and picked up a brass statue, a small bronze replica of the Charging Bull that graces Wall Street. About ten inches long and six high, the figure was a perfect scale copy of the famous original, which symbolizes a strong financial market on the rise. The original figure, by Arturo Di Modica, is known the world over.
“This was on Roslov’s desk,” Floyd said. “I thought he was having a pop at American capitalism, so I liked the idea of taking it away from him.”
He handed it to me, and I turned it over and examined it closely. “You take anything else?”
Floyd shook his head. “The other guys did, but not me. I didn’t have a gear bag. I was just the pilot. There must have been hidden cameras in the place. They must have filmed us to know that it was me who took the Bull.”
There was nothing unusual about the bronze figure. Not as far as I could see. “What about the documents and data?”
“I think they got something,” Floyd said. “But I don’t get told that kind of information.”
“We need to get this into the lab,” I said to Justine. “Find out why people are prepared to murder for it.”
Chapter 80
Beth hadn’t been able to break the main pipe — it was too strong — but she had snapped off a two-feet section of the thinner sprinkler feed. A little more than an inch wide, the pipe wouldn’t be much use as a weapon, but it had potential as a tool. Beth had set to work using the jagged broken end to gouge away the concrete by the back wall. She’d been at it for over an hour and had created a hole beneath the corrugated-steel wall that was sufficiently large to put her hand in. She felt cold earth on the other side and her heart leaped.
Given the time, she knew she could dig her way out.
Every fiber of her being wanted sleep, and her muscles ached with fatigue, but she kept digging. Whenever she felt as though she couldn’t keep going, she looked at her babies, who were still asleep despite the glare of the strip lights that hung high above them.
Maria and Danny were all the incentive Beth needed to force herself on. She would die for her kids, so pain and torturous labor were nothing in comparison. She kept working and forced the opening wider, a millimeter at a time. She groaned as she stood up to take a short break and stretch, but her rest was short-lived.
She heard an exterior bolt being drawn back and hurried over to her cot, dragging it to conceal the hole. She jumped into bed, tucked the length of pipe beneath her, and pulled a thin blanket up to her neck. She closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep as the door swung open.
She heard footsteps approach. A hand shook her. She turned over to see Andreyev standing close by her. He held a cell phone that was connected to some kind of digital relay about the size of a pack of cigarettes.
“We offered your husband a deal some time ago,” Andreyev said. “He did not take it. We believe he needs more convincing. You will talk to him and tell him to come to us. Or we will kill one of your children. We do not need you all.”
Andreyev indicated the two masked men who stood over Danny and Maria. Both were aiming pistols at her sleeping children.
“No blanks this time,” Andreyev assured her. “When I give the word, one of them dies.”
Chapter 81
We were thirty minutes from Manhattan Heliport when the satellite phone rang. Floyd passed it to me. I removed my headset before I answered.
“Mr. Morgan,” Andreyev said. “I hoped I would have heard back from you by now. Maybe Captain Floyd needs some encouragement to reach a decision. Please put him on the line.”
I could tell from Andreyev’s tone what was coming next. The man was angry and he would take that anger out on Beth and the children. I had to try to buy some more time.
“He escaped,” I replied. “I gave him your offer and I think he must have got suspicious that we were still working together. He took off around Denville. Just made a run for it. We tried to chase him down, but he shook us off. We’re out searching for him right now.”
Floyd looked at me quizzically from the co-pilot’s seat. Justine tapped me on the shoulder. When I turned, she shrugged as if to say: What’s going on?
I signaled them both to be quiet and waited for Andreyev to respond. I could tell I’d taken the wind out of his sails. I just had to pray he hadn’t heard about Rick Ferguson going missing yet.
“Do you have any way of contacting him?” he asked.
“No. He has no phone, no money. I don’t know where he’s going. We had a reported sighting outside a convenience store in Livingston. That’s where we’re going now.”
“If I find out you’re playing games—”