Джеймс Паттерсон - Private Rogue

“Run!” Beth yelled.

She grabbed the kids and pulled them forward, aiming for the treeline on the other side of the field. The snow was deep and hard going, and she was bloody, bruised and battered, but she was free.

And determined to stay that way.

Joshua and I were in the Toyota, watching Jessie take position on the brow of the hill. She lay prone in the snow and set up her AR-15 on a bipod, then checked the magazines of ammunition she had in a small bag beside her.

I glanced in the rear-view and saw Justine and Mo-bot heading toward the road. Justine was on the phone, calling the cops as we’d agreed. She looked nervously in my direction.

“She’s set,” Floyd said. I glanced at Jessie and saw her giving a thumbs-up.

I put the car in gear. “Ready?” I asked.

Floyd patted his AR-15 and nodded.

I stepped on the gas and we lurched forward, spitting icy gravel as the wheels fought for traction. We crested the hill and saw most of Andreyev’s men were congregating around the farmhouse. They looked up the moment they heard the engine, and sprang into action when they caught sight of us racing toward them.

My attention was suddenly drawn from the farmhouse by the sight of three figures running away from the far barn. They were heading toward the forest on the other side of the field. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing: Beth, Maria and Danny had somehow managed to escape! I pointed them out to Floyd and a smile began to appear on his face before it quickly hardened to a look of grim resolve.

Andreyev and the two guards who had been stationed outside the barn were running along the exterior wall. They would soon have a line of sight on Beth and the children.

The men by the farmhouse opened fire on us. As bullets thudded into the ground all around the SUV, Jessie replied on our behalf and sprayed the group with bullets. The rattle of machine-gunfire sent panic through Andreyev’s men. Two of them went down with bloody wounds and were hauled into the farmhouse by their retreating accomplices.

Andreyev stopped in his tracks when he heard the gunfire and yelled something at the two guards before changing direction and running back toward the courtyard. The two guards continued their pursuit of Beth and the children.

I steered off the track and took us round the house and through the thick snow that covered the bumpy hill. We sprayed ice and slush everywhere and bounced around wildly as the engine roared. Above us, Jessie kept laying down covering fire, pinning Andreyev’s men inside the farmhouse.

We hit level ground and shot past the house, onto the field beside the east barn. One of the guards pursuing Beth turned and opened fire on us. The other shot at her and the kids.

“Stop the car,” Floyd said.

I stepped on the brake and we skidded to a halt. Floyd jumped out and raised his AR-15 to his shoulder.

I heard gunfire and looked to my left to see one of Andreyev’s men shooting at us through the back window of the house.

I pulled my Glock from the holster in the center console, opened the door and returned fire. The man staggered back, wounded, and I turned just in time to see Floyd target the guard who was shooting at us. His pistol could hardly make the distance, but the AR-15 had no such trouble. Floyd squeezed the trigger. The first bullet tore through the man’s throat. The second pierced his skull.

Beth and the children were almost at the trees, the second guard not far behind. As his comrade’s body tumbled into the snow, Floyd quickly shifted his aim to the guard pursuing his family. He squeezed the trigger and hit his target in the center of his back. The man went down instantly.

An engine roared and I looked left to see a black Porsche Cayenne shoot out of another barn. Andreyev was at the wheel. He raced across the courtyard and out into open countryside away from the farmhouse. He was heading for a track that cut through the woods.

“You go. Look after your family,” I told Floyd. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Thank you, Jack. For everything you’ve done.”

He slung his rifle, shut the car door, and set out at a sprint.

I popped the Toyota in gear and went in pursuit of the fleeing Russian.

Both children were shrieking and Beth was almost hysterical. They were shooting at her babies! These monsters were prepared to slaughter children. They just had to make it to the trees...

Maria was a few paces ahead. Beth saw her daughter glance back.

“I’m with you, baby,” she assured her.

Maria stopped suddenly.

“Don’t give up. Keep going!” Beth shouted. But Maria stayed where she was and pointed at something behind them. Danny had run on ahead, but he looked back and suddenly stopped as well.

Beth turned to see what they were staring at. Instead of the gunman she expected to see pursuing them, she saw something she couldn’t believe. Tears flooded her eyes. They streamed down her face. They fell into the thick snow.

“Daddy,” Maria said softly.

Beth shook with relief as she saw Josh running toward them with a rifle slung over his back.

Maria broke free and ran past the two dead gunman. She sprinted through the snow and leaped into her father’s arms. He wept with joy as he showered her with kisses. Danny went next and raced to his father. Josh scooped him up and carried his children to Beth.

He set them down and looked at his wife with all the love in the world.

She threw her arms around him and they kissed until she collapsed against him, exhausted by the ordeal, unable to quite believe it was over.

“I love you,” Josh whispered.

“I love you too,” Beth just about managed through the choking flood of emotion.

“Come on,” Josh said, wiping his eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”

He held the children’s hands and led them away.

Beth took one last look at the place that had nearly broken her and robbed her of her children, before following her family into the trees.

The Toyota’s engine roared and the suspension clattered and clunked as I followed Andreyev along the rutted forest track. His car had more grunt than mine, but we were both pushing our vehicles to the limit. Plumes of smoke belched from the twin exhaust of the Porsche SUV. The Toyota’s cabin filled with the stench of overheated metal and I opened the window for a blast of fresh air. Andreyev’s Cayenne was churning mud and snow, flinging it everywhere. With the window open I could hear the growl of the engines and every bang and thud as our chassis bounced around violently.

We sped along, winding between the trees. I fought for control of the Toyota at every bend while the snow and ice threatened to send me spinning. Both cars fishtailed wildly, wheels churning, and exhausts burning.

As we came out of a bend, I accelerated and nudged his bumper. He pushed his car faster and opened some distance. I could see the forest thinning ahead, and then clear sky. The track spat us onto a single-lane highway. Andreyev bounced through a bank of slush onto asphalt and skidded round to head south. I narrowly avoided colliding with a mail truck heading north. Ignoring the prolonged sound of the truck’s horn, I swung south to chase the Russian.

The forest sped by in a blur on both sides as we shot along the country road. Andreyev overtook a VW Golf on a blind bend and I followed, narrowly missing an oncoming eighteen-wheeler. My heart thundered at the sound of an angry blast from its loud horn. I swung in behind Andreyev and squared up just in the nick of time.

I forced the Toyota down two gears and hit the gas. The car jumped forward and I drew alongside the Porsche. Another truck was heading directly for me. Fast. I must have been touching eighty when I swung the wheel hard and crashed into Andreyev’s car. He fought for control, but I held firm and forced him off the road. I swung into the lane as the truck passed by with a roar.