Джеймс Паттерсон - Private Rogue

A voice yelled in Russian. Floyd glanced over his shoulder to see the silhouette of a man in the light of the torches. He was looking their way.

“Come on. They’ve seen us,” Chris said, mounting her horse.

The man at the other end of the alleyway yelled as Floyd and John climbed into their saddles. Chris urged her horse forward and Floyd’s followed its lead. He hadn’t ridden for years and gripped the reins tightly. He looked back to see John following, behind him a cluster of torchlights and figures running toward them.

The horses’ hooves pounded with greater urgency, and clouds of vapor swirled around their heads as they gathered speed.

Over the beating rhythm of the hoofbeats came a sudden, ugly crack. Then another. And another.

“They’re shooting!” John yelled. A moment later there was another volley and he cried out in pain.

Floyd looked back to see the Englishman slump forward. He reined in his horse, but John raised his head.

“Go!” he barked through gritted teeth. “Don’t let this be for nothing.”

Chris pulled up. “I can’t leave him,” she said as Floyd passed her. “Head south. There’s a map of the passes in your bag.”

Floyd urged his horse on. It galloped out of the alleyway onto the main road through Kamdesh. Floyd glanced back to see Chris tending to John as a gang of men closed in on them.

Adrenalin surging, heart thumping, Floyd flicked the reins and turned the horse south. His mount raced forward at full pelt and didn’t seem to need further encouragement, but if there was more speed to be had, Floyd wanted it.

“Yah!” he yelled.

He heard more shouts behind him, but didn’t look back. Soon he and the horse were lost to the darkness.

My second time in hospital in less than twenty-four hours. Danny sat next to me, grim and still as stone. I wasn’t sure whether my reassurances had calmed him or if he was simply numb. Maria was pacing the lobby of the Berwick Commonwealth Hospital, her skinny arms folded, her brow furrowed.

“You sure there’s no one I should call?” I asked when she came near.

She shook her head.

“Your dad?” I tried.

Danny was about to reply, but Maria shot him a dirty look and he clammed up.

After the ambulance had picked us up and we’d got Beth seen to, I’d tried to ask the children about their family, but neither of them would say anything. I quizzed them about their mother’s revelation that the man who’d introduced himself to me as Donald Singer wasn’t her father, but they weren’t willing to talk about it. I’d checked this guy’s background, so either Beth was lying or I’d fallen victim to some very sophisticated invention.

While I was thinking this through, I noticed myself appear on the TV on the wall of the waiting room. There was no sound, but the footage being broadcast was of the mayhem outside the Relax Inn. A picture of me and my name were inset into the main image, which cut to one of the motel guests being interviewed about what had happened.

I took out my phone and called Justine.

“Hey,” she said. “I was about to call you. I just spoke to Jessie. Are you OK?”

“Fine,” I replied. “Can you ask Mo-bot to run a reverse search? See if anyone is looking for us...” I broke off when I saw Dr. Sohal, a slim middle-aged man with designer glasses and a Stars and Stripes tie pin, come through the emergency room doors.

“I’ve got to go,” I said.

“Jack—” Justine said before I hung up.

The doctor approached with a smile on his face. He was leading the team treating Beth, and his expression was one of relief. “I think she’s fine,” he said.

Maria stopped pacing and ran over. “Can we see her?”

“Of course,” Sohal replied. “Come with me.”

Danny got to his feet and joined his sister. I rose and followed the two kids who trailed the doctor into the ER. The moment I stepped through the doors, I was greeted by a nurse I recognized from Beth’s response team.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said. “I need to ask you some questions. The patient claims not to be able to remember her home address or date of birth. It could just be shock, but we need to book an MRI scan to check there’s no neurological damage. For that I’ll need her insurance details. Or yours. If I could have your name and details that would also be helpful.”

There was something about the way the nurse had framed the question. Her delivery seemed to waver between passive aggression and sweet apple pie, and her expression kept alternating between a bright smile and anxious concern. Had she seen the news footage?

“Let me go and ask who her insurer is,” I said, pressing on before the nurse had a chance to object.

I hurried through the otherwise empty emergency room to the bay where Beth was leaning out of bed and hugging Danny and Maria. She tensed the moment she saw me.

“When can she move?” I asked Dr. Sohal.

“I just want to do an MRI to see about the memory loss—” he began.

“But she’s OK?” I cut in.

“Probably, but—”

I cut him off again. “The nurse mentioned she wanted to check something with you about the insurance paperwork.”

He smiled uncertainly. “Really?”

I nodded.

“One moment, please,” he said, stepping out of the bay.

“Have you really lost your memory?” I asked Beth.

She shook her head.

“Good,” I replied. “The men who attacked you at the motel have put me in the frame. We’re all over the news. We need to go.”

Beth pushed herself upright and wobbled for a moment.

“Mom?” Danny remarked, his voice frail with concern.

“I’m OK, hun.”

Beth slid off the gurney and got to her feet. I took her arm and the children clustered around us as we left the bay.

“Excuse me!” Sohal called out when he saw us.

Behind him, I saw flashes of blue clothing through the glass doors. Two uniformed police officers entered the lobby and approached reception.

“This way,” I said.

We ran in the other direction, through the ER, and took a left turn onto a corridor that led to the X-ray department. If they had my identity, they might be able to track my phone, so I took the difficult decision to jettison it. I slipped it onto the middle shelf of a supply trolley we passed.

I heard a door slam and the sound of distant footsteps running in our direction.

“Come on, kids,” Beth said, hustling the children forward.

I ran ahead and burst through the fire door at the end of the corridor. As I spilled into the freezing air, an ear-piercing alarm sounded. The children covered their ears as Beth chivvied them out. I glanced around then ran toward the street where a cab waited at the hospital rank. Its exhaust puffed a steady cloud.

“Come on,” I said.

We ran across a patch of snow, crossed the gritted sidewalk and reached the taxi. I whipped open the door, bundled Beth and the children inside, and followed them.

“Easy, buddy,” the driver said.

“Two hundred bucks if you get us out of here now,” I said.

“Okey-dokey,” he replied eagerly.

He slipped the gearshift and we started moving. We were about thirty yards down the street when the first police officer burst through the fire exit.

Beth and the kids ducked but I kept my eyes on him.

“Man who’d pay two hundred for a ride, would probably pay three,” the opportunistic cab driver noted.

I locked onto his eyes in the rear-view mirror.

“Freedom ain’t free,” he added knowingly.

I nodded. It was worth the price. As the hospital receded behind us, I settled back and thought about our next move.