Джеймс Паттерсон - Private Rogue

Beyond Jessie, Nightwell and the two special agents, forensic investigators were working the scene alongside uniform cops and FBI agents. A photographer was taking pictures of Roni’s body. Taft’s was hidden by a screen, but Justine couldn’t shake the memory of the gruesome headshot he took. These two brave people had been cut down before their time. They’d been murdered while trying to protect others. There had to be justice, or if not that, vengeance.

Justine had given her statements and was glad to be alone. Jack’s death had created a gaping wound in her soul, and this professional failure only deepened it. She hadn’t felt so low in years. Guilt gnawed at her, alongside the grief she felt for Jack. The deaths of those two agents were on her. If she hadn’t been so caught up in her own loss, would she have noticed a tail? Would she have suggested they sweep the car for bugs before leaving the New York office? Justine would never know for certain if they had been followed or what she could have done differently, but she found it hard to shake the feeling that if she’d been at her sharpest, those two people would still be alive.

The trailer door opened and Justine steeled herself to put on the brave face she reserved for strangers. It faded away the moment she saw Mo-bot and Sci climb the steps.

“Oh, Jus,” Mo-bot said, crossing the truck to embrace her. “I’m so sorry. Jessie told us what happened.”

“We lost them,” Justine responded tearfully. “They killed two of our own and they took Beth and the children.”

“They’ll pay for this,” Sci said. “We’ll make sure of it.”

“Have you told the Feds about Andreyev?” Mo-bot asked.

Justine nodded.

“That might explain why he’s gone to ground,” Mo-bot replied. “The billfold showed up on a flight to Moscow.”

“You think he’s left the country?” Justine asked.

Mo-bot shook her head. “I checked immigration photos of everyone on the flight. No record of him on the plane. My guess is he gave it to someone else to make it look like he’d flown. We sent a couple of operatives to his apartment. It’s empty. He has what he wanted. He can burn his cover.”

“What do we do now?” Justine asked, wishing Jack was there to guide them.

“We’re going to find Beth and her children,” Mo-bot replied. “Whatever it takes. We will find them and we will bring them back. And then Andreyev will pay for what he’s done.”

The cold burned, scalding my extremities, causing tingling pain in my hands and feet. Floyd and I were dressed for the conditions, but even these clothes weren’t designed for nights on a mountain. Any normal expedition would now be in a tent, tucked in sleeping bags, but we weren’t a normal expedition; we were fighting for our lives.

We’d lost our gear and were trying to make it to the Pakistani border before we died of exposure. We were high up the mountain, maybe ten or twelve thousand feet, close to the pass that I remembered being marked on the map Chris and John had given me. I’d been climbing a few times in the past with buddies who were addicted to the adventure of scaling mountains. Here, high up in the peaks of the Hindu Kush, with the stars so close it felt as though I could reach out and touch them, with air so thin and cold each breath was an intoxication and the majesty of the Earth stretched out far below, I finally understood why the mountains caught and held my climbing friends in their addictive grip. I was on the very edge of survival. Maybe it was only by coming so close to death that I could fully appreciate the beauty of life.

We were following the winter trail up to the pass. From memory, I estimated it was a short distance from the pass to the border, located on the other side of this mountain, in the next valley. The summit loomed above us, glinting in the moonlight. Every crystalline sparkle reminded me how cold it was, but I couldn’t look away because it was a wondrous sight. The sides were steep and snow clung to them in patches, on top of ice that was diamond blue. The peak itself rose into the sky like a jagged tooth, reaching for stars and galaxies that were rich in depth and color. There weren’t many more beautiful places to die.

Floyd trudged beside me, but we didn’t talk. Our boots crunched ice and snow, and our breathing was fast and labored, made worse by regular sections that required us to scramble up steep runs of sheer rock. All around us the world was still. No sane creatures would travel here, particularly at night.

Down there in the valley where air and energy were cheap, we’d chatted about our respective military experiences, discussed the merits of different aircraft we’d flown, traded war stories and anecdotes about those we’d served with. He’d told me about the men who’d been killed when the Osprey had been shot down, and I had shared my similar experience. It wasn’t something I often discussed, but it was cathartic to share with someone who truly understood.

He had spoken about Beth and the children, and asked me questions about them; how they were and whether they were safe. I told him what we knew about the man posing as Beth’s father, and assured him his family were safe with my team.

Then I spoke about Justine. I told Floyd how much she meant to me and spoke about her in terms that would have made a love-struck teenager ashamed, but there was no one to hear me except the mountains and Floyd, who was expressing similar emotions about those close to him. I didn’t give voice to my darker worry. I had no doubt Feo and Dinara thought we were dead. If they’d managed to escape, I expected they would have informed Justine by now, and I couldn’t stand the thought of her suffering. I didn’t share that concern with Floyd because if Justine had been told we were dead, it was likely Beth knew too.

The mountain had silenced our easy chatter halfway up. We saved our breath for the arduous climb. When I looked at Floyd now, I saw the familiar, grim struggle of a man determined to push his body beyond its natural limits. I probably wore the same bleak expression. It was hard going, and a small part of me just wanted to lie down in the snow and rest until all the pain was gone.

“Nearly there,” I grunted, and Floyd nodded in reply.

We pushed on the last few steps and then saw the pass open up as we turned a bend that marked the shoulder of the mountain. There was a relatively flat gap between the peak of this mountain and its neighbor, and we could see clear sky and distant ranges.

I looked at Floyd and forced a smile, and he offered one in reply.

We pressed on, trudging through deep snow for another quarter of a mile until we earned the reward our exhaustion deserved. The pass ended abruptly, and beneath us was a sheer cliff that dropped a few hundred feet before going into a gentler slope. Far below, on the valley floor, beyond an expanse of forest that covered the bottom of the mountain, I could see lights and the faint outlines of small buildings. They stood beside a single-track road, which would have been lost to darkness had it not been for the headlights of a truck approaching the buildings. We had reached civilization, and the sight sent my spirits soaring.

I could see it had the same effect on Floyd because he grinned at me, relief in his expression.

“This way,” I said, gesturing toward a trail that was almost lost to snow. It would take us east, leading, if I remembered the map correctly, to the border and to safety.

The valley was a few blissful degrees warmer than the pass. It had taken us three hours to stagger and stumble our way down the mountain. We were breathless and exhausted by the time we reached the snow-covered forest that spread across the lower slopes. We picked our way between tall cedars and pines, and soon the ground started to level out. We were on the gentle slope that led to a group of buildings we assumed were the border station.