Джеймс Паттерсон - Private Rogue

“Hey!” a voice yelled as air rushed out.

I looked up to see the two cops racing from the store.

“Stop!” the closest yelled.

I ignored him and sprinted into the front yard of the nearest house. I vaulted a locked side gate, dodged a barking German Shepherd, and ran alongside the house until I reached a large garden. There was a chain-link fence at the end, beyond it the woods that surrounded town. I flew across the lawn, jumped onto the roof of a doghouse near the fence, and used a fence post to push myself up and over.

“Stop or I will shoot!” one of the cops yelled.

I didn’t even bother looking round, instead starting to run the moment my feet hit the ground. I threw myself into the snow-laden firs and within moments was lost in their cold embrace.

“We have to leave,” I said, shaking Beth awake.

She’d fallen asleep with Danny and Maria, the three of them cocooned under heavy blankets and breathing deeply when I made my announcement.

Beth sat up suddenly and stared at me in bewilderment, until she recalled who I was and where we were.

“I got spotted by a couple of cops — or people dressed as cops,” I explained. “I went to make a phone call.”

Beth eyed me with disapproval.

“I was calling someone who can help us.”

“Come on, kids,” she said, rousing the children.

They had all slept in their clothes, so getting ready simply involved wrapping up for the cold weather and grabbing provisions to take with us.

We were soon starting our journey through the woods. I decided against the trail and road to avoid unnecessary exposure, so we were going to make this journey cross-country.

“Where are we going?” Beth asked.

“Swiftwater,” I replied. “One of my colleagues is meeting us there.”

Beth nodded uncertainly and we continued through dense woodland. Swiftwater was about an hour’s walk by road, but this terrain would take much longer to cover.

I heard a bird call and looked up to see the familiar shape of a golden eagle riding the morning updrafts high above us.

“Hey,” I said. “You kids ever seen a golden eagle?”

Danny nodded and Maria rolled her eyes.

“We live in Garrison,” she said. “There’s a ton of eagles in the mountains.”

“Maria,” Beth chided.

“It’s OK. I still remember when I was young enough to believe it was cool to be jaded about everything,” I said. “If you’re interested, there’s one right over us.”

Danny looked up immediately, and was captivated by the bird. Maria pretended not to look, but I saw her sneak a couple of glances. Beth smiled at me, and we walked on.

Ninety minutes later, we emerged from the woods onto a quiet road just south of Swiftwater. We hurried directly across Route 611, onto an inclined driveway that led up to the bus depot. We didn’t have to walk far before I saw a black Nissan Rogue parked in a layby opposite the depot. Jessie got out as we approached.

“Beth, this is Jessie Fleming. She runs our New York office,” I said. “Jessie, this is Beth, Maria and Danny.”

“You guys look frozen,” Jessie said. “Let’s get you inside. I’ve got the heater on scalding.”

Beth and the children climbed in the back of the Nissan, and I took the passenger seat beside Jessie, who hopped behind the wheel. The car was warm and stuffy and, after the chill of the long walk, I loved it.

“I brought you a phone,” she said, handing me an iPhone. “And cash, and there are some clothes in the trunk. I’ve arranged a place for us to stay. Rye — just outside the city. Secluded and safe.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Thank you,” Beth added.

I checked the phone and saw many of my important numbers had already been added. I dialed one I knew by heart.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” I replied.

“Jack!” Justine exclaimed breathlessly. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t call sooner,” I replied.

“Jessie explained. Sci and Mo-bot have started very carefully digging into Singer’s background to find out who he really is and how he produced such a convincing legend.”

“Get in touch with Singer,” I suggested as an idea formed.

I noticed Beth suddenly tense, but I signaled her to stay calm.

“Tell him I want to meet somewhere in the city this afternoon. Text me the location.”

“Will do,” Justine replied. “But be careful, Jack. I want you back in one piece. I saw what happened at the motel.”

“I’ll do my best,” I assured her, before hanging up.

“You want to meet him?” Beth asked.

I nodded. “I don’t like being played. It’s time to turn the tables.”

Jessie put the car in gear.

“New York?” she asked.

“New York,” I replied. She swung the car around and joined the 611 heading south.

The journey across the valley had taken most of the day. Floyd had followed the trail marked on the map, but thick snow had made the going difficult. He’d veered off course a number of times and had to retrace his steps.

The sun had gone down by the time the horse started to climb the mountain on the other side of the valley. Mule was clearly exhausted, and Floyd knew they wouldn’t be able to go on much longer, so he began to look for somewhere to spend the night. The lower slopes were covered by big trees, which made it hard to spot any shelter from the trail. If they could get above the treeline, it would be easier to see a crevasse or cave.

Floyd urged Mule up the steep incline. As they trudged slowly on, he wondered whether Beth and the children had gone to the cabin. Would the Department of Defense have notified her he was missing in action? Would they even know? Or would they mistakenly count him among the fallen? He couldn’t bear the thought of Beth worrying about him, much less the children, so he pushed such questions from his mind. Get to the border. Get to a phone. His task was simple, even if the execution of it was not.

Mule was breathing heavily, and ridges of white, foamy sweat had formed on her neck, but she kept going, and they were in sight of the rocky terrain that marked the end of the forest. The trees were thinning out, unable to thrive much higher. Floyd looked at the shadows up ahead and tried to see if he could spot shelter, but he was still too far away.

He was surprised to hear the low thrum of an engine, and recognized the frequency — too low for a car or a plane, the rhythm belonged to a chopper. He urged Mule off the trail, into the last of the trees, and the horse pushed through snow that came to its knees until Floyd pulled up by the trunk of a cedar. Mule settled and Floyd watched the sky. The tops of the trees swayed gently against the bright stars, but there was no sight of the aircraft. The sound of its engine grew louder, and Mule pawed the ground nervously.

Floyd’s heart pounded as he began to make out the occultation of the rotors, which meant the aircraft must be close. Then it appeared, the distinctive silhouette of a Russian-made Mil Mi-24 Hind, commonly known as the flying tank: a fast, heavily armed chopper with trademark down-swept wings. The bird had no running lights and was a solid black against the gray and white of the mountains opposite. It flew toward Floyd and, as it banked in his direction, he saw something that sent panic rushing through him: the familiar green glow of an infra-red night-vision system. Against the cold mountainside, he and the horse would light up in bright oranges and yellow.

Floyd looked around, desperately searching for somewhere to hide, but there was nothing other than trees and deep drifts of snow. As the chopper came straight toward him, he could see the pilot, co-pilot and someone else who stood in the center of the cockpit. All three were staring directly at him. They couldn’t land, but if the bird was properly equipped, they wouldn’t need to. A team could drop-line down to him.