It scared the hell out of her.
They were headed for Bagram Airfield in Afghanistan. From there they'd be transported to the landing zone near the border. After that, it was up to them.
Nick dozed. Ronnie leaned back against the aluminum skin of the aircraft. His lips moved. He had his leather pouch in his hand. He was repeating one of the Navajo ceremonies to himself, preparing himself for battle. Keeping himself in harmony with the universe. She knew the Navajo people had once been fierce warriors. If Ronnie was typical, they still were.
She wished she had a ritual ceremony. She wished she was back behind a lecture podium at Stanford.
No you don't, something said inside her head.
The realization felt like a flare of light across her mind. A ritual would be good. But not the predictable routine of life before the Project. Before Nick.
She was in love with him in spite of herself. She wasn't sure when it happened. Maybe in his cabin, after Tibet. Maybe later. It didn't matter. What made her uneasy was that she didn't know if he felt the same way. Sometimes she thought he did. He'd given plenty of indications. He'd look at her, say something, touch her just to make a connection with her. As if he wanted to be sure she was there, that she was real. But he hadn't said the words.
Other times he walked in a world where no one else could go, a closed landscape of his mind as remote and inaccessible to her as the surface of Jupiter, a place filled with faceless enemies. They'd be in a restaurant or on the street. Something would make him reach for the .45 he always carried. A stray cat. A homeless man with a shopping cart. A car slowing nearby. A waiter passing with a tray. He was always jumpy. He watched everything. Hyper-vigilant.
He brought out primal sexuality in her she hadn't known was there. He was passionate. He took as much pleasure in her ecstasy as his own. He knew when to be strong, when to be gentle. He was everything she could want in a lover.
She wanted more.
His honesty fueled her doubts and hopes at the same time. She'd never met a man as honest as Nick. It wasn't just that he'd never rip someone off or lie to them to gain some advantage. He had the kind of honesty that was direct and simple, almost naive. Given what he did, she thought it was astounding. He said what he thought. He could be tactful or blunt or mistaken, but he never said something he didn't mean. If he ever managed to say those three words to her, he'd mean it. It hadn't happened yet.
The longer she was with him, the more she saw the demons that drove him. He'd told her once that he had snakes in his head. He'd surrounded himself with armor forged from pain and loss and a need to hold himself together in a private world filled with emotional danger at every turn. She could understand that. She'd done the same.
She thought about where they were headed, the mission. What had he said? Welcome to the next level of training, that was it. Training. If this was training, what was graduation? She watched Nick. He was twitching in his sleep. He's having one of his nightmares, she thought.
Nick dreamed.
He was in a large city somewhere. It was overcast, gray. The scene vibrated, shimmered with light. People hurried by, wrapped in coats and scarves and sweaters. Their breath frosted the air. There was a tall building, faceless with rows of apartment windows.
On the corner, lampposts stuck up over barriers on the sidewalk. Something was written there. A number in a circle. He stared, trying to make it out. 7. It was a 7.
There was something he had to do, but he couldn't remember what it was. He was worried, because he couldn't find his gun and something was going to happen.
Something was going to happen. It was important, but he couldn't remember what it was. He was afraid.
Carter jolted awake. The interior of the plane was the same as when he'd fallen asleep. His shoulder ached. The engines droned on.
He hated the dreams.
They'd started when he was twelve. A week before she died, he'd been visiting his Irish Grandmother. She'd told him he had something called the Sight. It came through in prophetic dreams lit by odd light, like this one.
He never knew what they meant until later. They never foreshadowed anything good. His Grandmother's genes were probably the reason his ear acted up like it did. That part was all right. But the dreams, those he could do without.
He used to dream of Megan, but she seemed to have gone. He missed her. The dreams had been all that was left of her, except for a faded picture in his wallet.
They landed at Bagram Airfield and deplaned into freezing winds and a temperature hovering just above zero. He was back. He smelled the air and knew nothing much had changed. In this bitter fiction of a country, he didn't think much ever would.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Selena, Nick and Ronnie lay on hard, frozen ground and looked down at the compound courtyard below. A chill wind razored across the ridge, lifting threads of icy snow crystals into the night sky.
Ronnie looked through his scope. Green readouts in vertical and horizontal lines flickered in the eyepiece as he moved the weapon.
"I make it two hundred twenty seven feet down. Give or take."
It was three in the morning. Ronnie was only a dark shape in the night. The winter camouflage they all wore made them indistinguishable from the rocks and snow where they lay. Their faces were covered, only the eyes visible.
"No sign of a sentry. I don't see cameras, either." Carter scanned the courtyard through night vision binoculars. "This is too easy."
"No power."
"They need power for that satellite dish. They must have a generator. I don't hear one running."
"Maybe they just feel secure out here." Selena's voice was quiet. Her mouth felt dry.
"Maybe. Maybe nobody's home. Maybe I'll win the lottery tomorrow. Check your gear."
They checked the MP-5s, the grenades and other weapons. Their headsets crackled. Stephanie's voice echoed through the satellite link.
"Nick. Acknowledge."
"Yes."
"I see you. I can't get a clear infrared image on the objective. There's some kind of shielding. Probably explains why Langley never spotted them before. I can't tell you who's in there."
"Roger that." That was no help.
"What is your status?"
"We're ready."
"Lamont says watch your ass."
Nick laughed. "Roger. I'll leave the comm link open. Out."
Ronnie anchored the line around a black outcrop of stone. He gave it a tug.
"All set."
"Ronnie, you first, then Selena, then me. We hit the ground, get up against the wall next to the door. Watch out for those windows."
Ronnie hooked on and slipped over the edge. In seconds he was down. He sprinted for the door. Selena followed, her heart thumping. Carter felt the adrenaline surge take hold, hooked on and rappelled down the side of the canyon. In less than a minute they were flat against the wall by the wooden door.
The door was old and solid, painted green. It was made of thick wooden planks held together by rusted iron bands. A pitted metal latch held it closed. There was no sign of alarm. No lights in any of the narrow windows. The only sounds came from the crunch of their feet on the frozen snow and the thin wail of a cutting, chill wind swirling around the courtyard. The building loomed over them, stark against the black mountain.
Carter reached over to the latch and lifted upward. He felt a bar move on the other side. He signaled and eased the door partway open, ready to fire.
Nothing.
They slipped into the building and fanned out. Ronnie closed the door behind them. They were in a large, high ceilinged hall. It was warmer here. The windows were sealed over on the inside. The floor was paved with stone. To one side was a row of wooden dummies and a rack of staffs, aids for practicing martial arts. A few candles burned in niches set back along the length of the room. The ceiling was crossed by dark wooden beams. Flecks of red paint lingered on wooden columns supporting the floors above and a wide balcony at one end.