Mark Young - Off the grid

Stealthily, she wove through groves of trees that surrounded Kane’s complex, targeting a hill that lay beyond Collette’s position. Alena could crest that hill and work down the slope, giving her the high ground and-hopefully-the element of surprise.

It seemed forever before she reached it, clogged with low-lying brush and winter-bare trees. Some were evergreen, but not enough for good cover. She was thankful that whatever noise she made up to this point would not be carried down the hill to Collette’s hiding place. At least until she slipped over the crest and began her descent. At that point, she hoped Gerrit and Stafford would kick up some noise.

Just as she reached the apex, she heard Collette fire two quick shots.

Hugging the ground, Alena waited to see where the shots had been aimed. The rifle’s blast would not necessarily divulge direction. Only that it had been fired.

“Stafford,” Gerrit’s voice carried over the radio. “Move to your left, and I’ll try to flank her. Don’t give her a clean shot.”

“Watch your own hide, O’Rourke. I can take care of myself.” Stafford sound annoyed.

They were giving her the time she needed to make a move.

She started downward while scanning below for any sign of the target. Moonlight made the hillside light like day through the night-vision glasses. Movement caught her eye. There, behind a rock, facing away. Alena edged forward, using tree trunks as cover wherever possible in case Collette spun around.

Several more shots fired. Those came from Gerrit’s position. For a second, she was angry that he fired in her direction, and then she heard one of the rounds zip overhead. He was firing high for distraction.

Stafford fired several shots.

As the sound of rifle fire echoed up the slope, she used the noise as cover to dash down the hill, closer to Collette’s position. She jumped behind a tree trunk and waited to see if the woman had heard her. Nothing but silence. She peered around the trunk. The woman lay prone about ten yards away. She could kill Collette from here, but taking her prisoner was a higher priority. The woman knew where Joe might be.

Alena reached down and keyed her radio twice, hoping Gerrit would understand. She held her breath and waited.

Gerrit peppered the air with more shots. He got the message.

She took a deep breath and sprang from the tree, dashing the short distance between her and Collette. With only three more yards to go, Collette rose up and spun around to face her. Alena’s momentum carried her the remaining distance as the woman raised her rifle. She slammed into Collette with enough force to carry them both down the hill, knocking the woman’s rifle away.

As she leaped from the ground, Alena heard the blade of a knife unsheathed. Her night-vision glasses had been knocked out of place when she collided with Collette. Momentarily blind, she tore off her glasses and reached for her holstered gun before Collette could use the knife. The holster was empty. The weapon must have been jarred loose in the collision.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Alena saw a flash of metal as Collette lunged and slashed her way toward Alena. Moonlight glittered off the blade.

Rookie move.

Alena sidestepped the last downward slash and caught Collette’s wrist in midair. Alena torqued the arm to her left and pulled, using her attacker’s downward movement as leverage.

Collette screamed as Alena wrenched the arm, practically pulling it out of its socket. Collette dropped the weapon.

Whirling, Alena used her forward motion to smash the base of Collette’s neck as the woman crumbled to the ground. Unconscious.

Gerrit looked down at Collette, bound and lying on the ground. The woman glared up at them. He looked at Alena and shook his head. “Note to self: Don’t get Alena angry. She can hurt me.”

Alena tried to smile. “She won’t talk-at least for now. We need to find Joe some other way.”

Stafford shouldered his rifle as Willy walked up. “Let me get her back to the office and see what we can get out of her.”

“Alena is right,” Gerrit said, watching Willy search the prisoner’s pockets and remove a cell phone. “We have to move now.”

“Look at this, Mr. G.” Willy had flipped the phone open, scrolling through the menu. “She received text messages from a number I recognize. The boss man himself.”

Gerrit felt his pulse quicken. “Maybe we can get Kane to tell us something. Quick, send back a text… mission accomplished.”

Typing the message, Willy hit the Send button. “Message on its way.”

“Okay, let’s get out of here before locals come to investigate.”

Stafford broke in. “I’ve got you covered here, O’Rourke. My people will take over as soon as I get them on-site. I’ll handle her.” He nodded toward Collette. “Maybe I can get something out of her. It would be better if you all were gone when my people get here. Less to explain.”

Gerrit nodded.

“Man, that was fast.” Willy stared at the phone. “Just got a return text. It reads, ‘Congrats. Now, get here as fast as you can.’”

“Doesn’t say where that is?”

“Nope. That’s all Kane sent.”

Gerrit reached down and turned on his own cell phone. “Hey, I got messages on my own phone.” All from one source. “I’ll check them on our way. Let’s meet by the car.”

“Roger that,” Willy said.

Gerrit raised the phone to his ear and heard Beck’s voice. After listening to all the messages, he joined the others waiting by the car. “Pack your bags. There’s one person I trust who might be able to help us. Start driving and I’ll try to get a message to him. We’re going back to where this all started.”

Vancouver, British Columbia

“We seem to be living out of this plane.” Gerrit peered out of the window as the aircraft descended toward the international airport far below. To the north, the Pacific mountains reached for the sky, with Mount Garibaldi rising like a monarch reigning over his mountainous kingdom.

Jack arranged for them to land north of Seattle on the Canadian side of the border and set up a personal escort through security. Sea-Tac would have been the closest airport, but Jack felt Kane’s people would be monitoring all arrivals into western Washington. Anyone trying to track their travel would find it difficult to zero in on them once they touched ground in Canada.

A family-size van with tinted windows sat near the terminal when they left the aircraft, and they crossed into the United States with minimal difficulty. Their falsified government-issued documents got them through Customs without a hitch. Once across the border, Gerrit used his credit card-issued under an alias to rent another van to get them near Seattle, leaving the Canadian rental behind.

Alena, sitting in the passenger seat, watched in the rearview mirror. “If someone picked up our trail, I’m not seeing it.”

In the driver’s seat, Gerrit found himself looking back as often as he looked forward. “Neither did I. Unless someone painted us with markers. Then they could be anywhere.”

“Hey, give me some credit,” Willy said. He’d been silently sitting in the back until Gerrit hinted at a screw-up. “I went over all our gear and personal items on the plane. We’re squeaky clean.”

“Maybe you missed something.” He glanced at Willy in the rearview mirror.

Willy scowled. “I didn’t miss anything, Mr. G.”

“We’re betting our lives on you.” Gerrit watched Willy flinch and Alena gave Gerrit a scowl. He got the message. “Look, I’m sorry. I guess I’m worried about Joe. Just forget I said anything.”

A slow smile emerged as Willy nodded. “You bet, Mr. G. And if you give me any more grief, I’ll just have Al kick your butt.”