Джеймс Паттерсон - Private Rogue

Beth nodded somberly, and I watched her wrestling with concern for her children and husband. I felt anger rising that the man calling himself Donald Singer had used me to put them in harm’s way.

“I’m going to find out who’s behind this,” I assured Beth. “And I’m going to make sure you and your family — including Joshua — are safe.”

Beth replied with a faint smile. Studying her face in the flickering light of the fire, I got the distinct impression she didn’t believe me.

A chill ran down the back of Floyd’s neck. He woke suddenly and sat up. He rubbed his chin and found it was wet. He looked up to see an icicle glistening in the morning sun. There was already another drop hanging at the very tip, ready to fall. He looked out of the mouth of the tiny cave that had sheltered him and his horse, and saw the deep valley was bathed in sunlight. The snow-covered slopes of the mountains opposite dazzled him, and the green flourishes of trees or the gray of rock could only be seen here and there. The snow was far too thick to be defeated, even by the most severe outcrops in the landscape.

Floyd had named his horse “Mule” in honor of what would politely be called its independent mind. He turned to see the creature pawing the cave floor impatiently. Floyd had wrapped himself in most of the clothes he’d found in the pack Chris and John had given him, and had covered Mule in the rough woolen blanket he’d also found inside. But the blanket had fallen off and the horse was stamping it into the frozen ground.

“Easy,” Floyd whispered, getting to his feet.

The animal must have been freezing, and Floyd knew the kindest thing to do would be to get moving, but he was worried about the men who’d come looking for him.

“Shush,” he said, reaching down for the blanket.

He placed it over the horse’s back and patted the animal on the flank. Mule snorted again, and clouds of steam burst from her nostrils.

“Just wait here,” Floyd said, but the animal didn’t have much choice; it was still bridled and its reins were tied around a rock.

Floyd jogged out of the cave and went up the narrow snow-covered path that led to the ridge overlooking Kamdesh. He slowed as he approached the end of the path, crouching as he picked his way between ice-crusted rocks. He reached the apex of the ridge and looked down at the town. He could see tiny figures dotted on the mountainside, gathered in groups of three or four, all in gray and white combat fatigues, very obviously searching for him.

Why would someone go to all this trouble for a Green Beret pilot? Floyd had never considered himself a high-value target, but someone was throwing a great deal of manpower at him.

He held his breath when he heard voices and slowly turned to his left to see three men moving through the trees, two hundred yards below him. They were checking every mound and bump, searching in the roots of trees.

Overnight snow had covered Mule’s tracks out of town, but the sky was now clear, so as he withdrew, Floyd did his best to brush away the marks he’d left in the snow. When he was well below the ridge line, he turned and ran down the path to the cave. He couldn’t stay there. It was only a matter of time before he’d be discovered.

He hurriedly packed his clothes and gear, and checked the map John had given him. He slung the backpack onto his shoulders, saddled Mule, and once the billet strap was secure, he untied the reins and led the horse from the cave. He moved slowly and cautiously, and patted Mule in an attempt to convey the need for silence.

They headed down the path into the valley — Floyd’s plan was to cross it and climb the mountains to the south. The border was only eighty miles away as the crow flies, but in this terrain, it might as well have been eight hundred.

You’ll do what it takes, soldier, he told himself, thinking of Beth, Maria and Danny. When he was a safe distance from the men hunting him, he mounted Mule and set off down the slope at a trot.

I woke early the next morning and crept out of the cabin without waking Beth or the children. I walked over crackling snow and followed the trail back to the road, and from there, I headed into town. A few vehicles passed me, but it was quiet. The morning rush hour hadn’t started.

Dawn’s tendrils reached over the treetops as I neared town, casting everything in a weak light. The brooding clouds suggested day would come slowly, and when it did arrive there was likely to be snow.

I returned to the mini-mart we’d passed, and offered the same bored teenager twenty dollars to use his cell phone.

“Forty,” he said.

I nodded and handed the bills over in exchange for his cracked old iPhone. He unlocked it, and I moved to the back of the store to talk in private.

“Hello?” Jessie said. She sounded groggy.

“Sorry for calling so early,” I responded.

“Jack!” She suddenly came to life. “I’ve been so worried about you. We all have. The thing at the motel—”

“A set-up,” I assured her. “Designed to get the cops looking for me. They want me found. More importantly, they want Beth Singer.”

“Rafael has been on damage limitation,” Jessie replied. “Turns out there was an emergency call naming you as a suspect, but motel guests who witnessed the incident give a conflicting story. You’re not a suspect anymore, but the cops want to talk to you to clear up a few questions.”

“I can’t do that until we know Beth and her children are safe from the people after them.”

“Who are they?” Jessie asked.

“We don’t know yet, but Donald Singer isn’t who he says he is,” I replied. “How are you?”

“Aching, but otherwise OK.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said. “I’m going to need a ride and somewhere safe to lie low.”

“No problem,” Jessie replied.

“Where do you want to meet?”

“Swiftwater, PA,” I replied. “There’s a bus depot just off the highway.”

“I’ll find it,” Jessie said. “When?”

“Two hours,” I replied.

“See you there.”

“Also, I need you to fill in Justine — especially about Singer. But this guy has serious resources, so we need to be vigilant and careful in our communications.”

“No problem, boss.”

“Thanks, Jessie,” I said finally, before hanging up.

I returned to the front of the store and handed the clerk his phone with a grateful thanks. He shrugged and started swiping it as I left the mini-mart.

I started across the parking lot, but changed direction when I noticed a couple of cops eying me from a cruiser that slowed to a halt on the other side of the street. They might have been genuine police or they could have been part of the crew who’d tried to abduct Beth and the kids. Either way, I couldn’t risk being caught. I headed back toward the convenience store, and nodded at the teenage clerk.

“It’s brutal out there,” I said.

“Well, you can’t live in here,” he scoffed.

“You got a bathroom?” I asked.

“Ten bucks,” he replied.

I shook my head at his greedy opportunism and laid a bill on the counter.

“In the back,” he said, gesturing toward the floor-to-ceiling fridges that lined the rear wall.

As I hurried in their direction, I glanced over my shoulder to see the uniformed cops crossing the parking lot, heading straight for the store. I jogged along an aisle and saw a corridor that cut between the fridges. I went straight down it, ignored the bathroom and headed for the fire exit. An alarm sounded when I opened the door. I sprinted around the side of the building, ran across the parking lot and over to the other side of the street to where the cruiser was parked. I took out a small pocket knife and dug it into the nearside tire.