by C. G. Cooper
YEGOROVICH — YUKON
“What is it? What happened?”
The big man and his small Hispanic friend wouldn’t answer his questions.
Maybe they were his people. Had they found him? But how? He had a level of faith in his intelligence services, but this would be a new record.
“The LZ is hot. I repeat, the LZ is hot,” the dark-skinned American said into the radio. Who was he talking to on the other end?
The giant cursed and looked to his friend.
“What do you wanna do?” the Hispanic asked.
“You stay here and watch him.”
“You’re gonna leave me here? No fucking way.”
“I said stay here, Gaucho. I don’t know who’s shooting out there, but I sure as hell am going to find out.”
“You’ll stick out like an elephant in a studio apartment!”
The big man wasn’t listening. “Stay put.”
Then he was gone. Yegorovich was fairly sure the Hispanic was rattling off every Spanish expletive he knew.
“We should move,” the president said, getting a dirty look from his guard in return. “If those are my people, and there is a very good chance it is, they will not stop until they find me. How much is your life worth, my friend?”
That seemed to rock the man back on his heels for a moment. Perfect. This is what he did best.
But surprise turned to something the Russian hadn’t calculated into the equation. The man with the funny, braided beard grinned.
“You just gave me a hell of an idea, Mr. President.” And without warning, Yegorovich was being dragged out into the cold by his collar.
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Four
STOKES — YUKON
The chest compressions weren’t doing a damn thing. Daniel was working on the wounds while Cal kept up a steady rhythm. He didn’t want to see where she’d been shot. There was enough blood to tell the tale.
The girl was tied to the bed, watching.
Cal stopped and pressed bloody fingers to Diane’s carotid. Nothing.
More compressions.
One, two, three.
One, two, three.
One, two, three this isn’t happening again, please don’t let this happen again...
“Who’s out there?” Cal shouted at the girl.
She flinched, trying to sink farther into the wall.
“Who is it?” he repeated.
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Something about her voice. Cal found that he believed her.
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Five
WILCOX — YUKON
It was tricky. He basically knew the layout and the terrain. The snow made it difficult. At least it muffled his footsteps. He realized too late that he should’ve grabbed some sort of camouflage.
Oh well. This was probably a suicide mission anyway. He’d been on many. He didn’t care. What he cared about was wrapping his hands around the prick with the gun.
He juked left, planting his feet as carefully as he could. Still, he skidded, and caught himself with one hand before he slipped into a ravine.
Careful now.
He fully expected another shot. This one might hit him. He’d die in peace. No regrets. But there’d be time for that later.
The shot didn’t come. But the unexpected launch of a shoulder-fired projectile rocketed a hundred or so yards to his right. He looked back but couldn’t see where it hit. But he did hear the explosion. He wondered how the shot was possible, this one and the others. The snow. The whiteout.
Stupid. You’re not thinking—thermal sighting. That meant he was a running duck. Well, at least this duck knew exactly where to go.
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Six
BRIGGS — YUKON
“We need to get out of here,” Daniel said. He watched his best friend continue compressions.
“I’m not leaving her,” Cal said through gritted teeth, his forehead a wet sheen.
“We can bring her. I’ll help.”
The explosion shook the ground and still Cal didn’t stop.
“Cal. We need to go.” He grabbed Cal’s arm. “Come on.”
"No!” Cal pushed harder.
The door to the hut slammed open and Daniel raised his weapon to shoot whomever it was.
“Brandon?” Daniel asked.
The president was wearing a heavy snow parka over his suit, no tie. He bent down next to Cal.
“They shot her. They fucking shot her,” Cal said, not looking up from his task.
Brandon looked at Daniel. “We need to get out of here. Someone took out the next hut over.”
Daniel was sure they’d have to drag Cal out. That wasn’t happening. He’d stay with his friend. No matter the cost.
“Go find the others,” he said.
As if on cue, Top burst inside. “The bastards took out the hut. Dammit, Gaucho was still in there!”
Even Cal cringed at that, but he went on doing compressions.
“Take Brandon,” Daniel said. “Get him somewhere safe.”
“Safe? Where the hell is safe?”
Daniel didn’t know. Their answer came a moment later when another explosion nearly sent them to their backs. “Anywhere but here.”
Top didn’t have to be told twice. “Come on.” He grabbed the president around the waist and hoisted him out of the hut. At least that was done.
Daniel moved closer to Cal. “Here. Let me take a turn.”
Cal fell back on his legs, crying. He’d blame this on himself. Daniel saw it.
Daniel checked for a pulse. Nothing. He started compressions.
He looked across the hut at the pretty girl in snipers’ white. She hadn’t said a word and only watched with rapt attention.
Daniel wasn’t sure about her, but there was no place he’d rather be. He would stay here until the end.
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Seven
WILCOX — YUKON
The second launch was half the distance of the first. Yeah. It had to be one person. If it was more than one, why wouldn’t they just unload with a full battery?
Not that he was scared to face more than one. But one-on-one tipped the odds in his favor.
He could practically smell the blood on the air.
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Eight
ZIMMER — YUKON
“What the hell happened?” Zimmer asked when they’d found some cover in a depression behind an old fishing shed.
“I don’t know. I didn’t see it happen. God, I hope Gaucho got out of there okay.”
“Did someone say my name?”
The voice came from behind. Zimmer turned and saw the short operator crouching his way closer. He wasn’t alone.
The President of Russia smiled when he knelt next to his peer.
“Tell me, Mr. President,” he said, “what will you tell my people when they find you here?”
“Your people?” said Zimmer.
“Who else would be doing this? They have found me and now they will find you.”
Presidential decorum went straight off the tundra when Zimmer balled his fist and delivered a haymaker worthy of a title fight.
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Nine
WILCOX — YUKON
He was close. He could feel it.
His guess was right. One man, alone.
Twenty feet away. He hadn’t looked Wilcox’s way once. It was a good thing, because all the assassin had for a weapon was himself. Not a problem.
Five feet closer.
The shooter put another round into his tube. Wilcox was pretty sure it was a Javelin. Heavy artillery for one man to carry out into the wild. Maybe he wasn’t alone after all.
Ten feet away. Missile loaded.
No time like the present.
Wilcox leaped, fully expecting to knock into the guy, but something else happened. It felt like a billy club knocked him in the thigh, spinning him almost full circle to the ground. He tried to get to his feet. The shooter was
turning.
Come on, legs. Move! Wilcox thought. But his knocked leg buckled. Then he felt the pain. And then he saw the blood.
Ouch. What the hell?
His brain did the lightspeed calculations. Trajectory. Timing. Space. All of it.
He turned just in time to see the figure emerge from oblivion, ready to send Wilcox there himself, first class, express.
Chapter One Hundred Thirty
STOKES — YUKON
She’s dead.
Oh, God, she’s dead.
How long will I be searching the corners of my life for her laugh?
Chapter One Hundred Thirty-One
ZIMMER — YUKON
Reinforcements arrived fifteen minutes later. Two teams of bearded bruisers with a look as hard as their demeanor. And more troops on the way, including Canadians. Things would move quickly now. Zimmer had to think fast.
“Mr. President, my name’s Bruce. A Ms. Haines said she would like to have a word with you.” Bruce held out a satellite phone.
“Thank you.” Zimmer moved off to the side. “Marge?”
“Thank God you’re still alive. You’ve got two teams on the ground. You wouldn’t believe the strings I had to pull. The Canadians are gonna have a field day with this one. Probably trade concessions and—”
“Marge.”
“Yes, I know. I’ll give you the floor when we get you back on Air Force One. I don’t get ruffled, but this has me hoppy. Now, when you get back—”
“Marge, I need to tell you something.”
She must’ve heard the urgency in his tone. “Sorry. What is it?”
“Diane’s been hit. She’s...”
“Oh no. Was she the only one?”
“They haven’t found Wilcox yet. Daniel thinks he either took off after killing the guy that shot Diane. Or maybe he’s dead. We’ll know soon.”
“What a fucking mess,” Marge said.
“Yeah. And we’ve got the Russian to deal with too.”
“How’s he taking it?”
“Surprisingly well. He thought they were coming to get him. To be honest, so did I.”
“I can shed some light on that. Unless the Russians have figured out how to evade every single asset we have, intel says they still think he’s lost in the Arctic. They think he’s on walkabout.”
Zimmer shook his head. “You’re kidding. Is this the first time?”
“Apparently not.”
Zimmer allowed himself the tiniest breath of relief. “Okay. This is what we’re going to do...”
Chapter One Hundred Thirty-Two
YEGOROVICH — THE ARCTIC, WESTERN CANADA
He waved to the helicopter and kept his grin plastered until they were out of sight. They’d given him exact directions. His fellow Russians would find him by nightfall.
Yegorovich was in no rush. Things had not gone to plan. He’d never assent to being kidnapped, though on some level he recognized the possibility of it.
They didn’t let him offer his condolences to Stokes. The Russian understood. He would keep in contact from a distance. There would be another time to help the son of his savior, the long-deceased Calvin Stokes, Sr.
For now, he would watch his own plans come to fruition. How marvelous that this little adventure would further distance him as the culprit.
He smiled toward the future.
Chapter One Hundred Thirty-Three
STOKES — CHICAGO
He’d never met Diane’s parents. Based on this one meeting, there would not be another. He’d come to deliver the news personally. They were a family of cops and knew from the look on his face what message he’d come bearing.
Mr. Mayer put his head in his hands and crouched to the floor with the guttural growl of a whipped dog. Mrs. Mayer slumped into a quilted blanket and wept in squealing hitches.
Cal told them what he could. He wished he could cry, but that time was done. He was numb. Just numb.
“I loved her, Mr. Mayer,” he said after a time. “I am so sorry for your loss.”
“You sonofabitch,” the man cried.
Hit me. Cal thought. Just hit me already.
Mr. Mayer didn’t not hit him. He yelled himself out at Cal, cursing him to the ends of the Earth, then hissed at Cal to get the hell out of his house. Cal lay a business card with his phone number on a table and left. There was nothing else he could do.
Chapter One Hundred Thirty-Four
BRIGGS — CHICAGO
“How did they take it?” Daniel asked as Cal slipped into the passenger seat.
“You didn’t hear the yelling?”
“I did.”
“Why the hell did you ask me then?”
Daniel stared at his friend softly and watched the change come over him.
“I’m sorry, Daniel. They’re devastated, is what they are.”
Daniel nodded and started the car. Liberty poked her head into the front and laid it on Cal’s shoulder. Cal stroked her head absently while Daniel headed back to the airport.
They were about to take the ramp onto the highway when blue lights flashed behind them. Daniel pulled over, though his hand went to the pistol stashed at his side. If questioned, he was licensed to carry in all fifty states.
The car behind them was unmarked and the cop who stepped out of the car was in plain clothes.
“Heads up,” Daniel whispered, surprised that Cal needed the prompting.
The plain clothes took his time. Daniel couldn’t tell from the side view mirror whether he was armed. No weapons in sight. That didn’t mean a thing.
Daniel rolled down his window, ready with the weapon in his opposite hand.
“Can I help you, Officer?”
The guy looked like an older version of Brad Pitt. Even had the smile to match.
“No, but I am here to help you. Mr. Stokes and I are old friends.”
Cal stiffened. “You’re the one from the holding cell.”
The Brad Pitt look-alike fished a cigarette from his pocket. “Guilty as charged.” Daniel detected the accent. Faint. Eastern bloc. Probably Russian.
“What do you want?” Cal asked.
“The same as you. Peace and goodwill for mankind.”
The way he talked reminded Daniel of Wilcox. The assassin’s whereabouts were still unknown, as were the whereabouts of the shooter from the Yukon expedition. Blood and spent rounds were found, but no body, warm or cold.
“Why don’t you cut the crap?” Cal said. Daniel worried that his unhinged friend might shoot the man right here and now with civilians driving by. Liberty bristled along with her master.
“I thought you’d like to know that we have the man who shot Ms. Mayer.”
Cal thrust his pistol forward, resting it on the windowsill. “I want the sonofabitch. Take me to him.”
The fake cop took a drag and exhaled toward the roof of the car.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible.”
“This time it is. The man you want is dead.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Would you like proof? I have pictures. I have witnesses.”
Daniel saw Cal’s finger tighten on the trigger. Liberty let out a low growl.
“You work for him, don’t you? What was this, a ploy to get back at me for something my father did? Because I’m here to settle bets too, you bastard.”
Still nonplussed, the man answered. “If you mean President Yegorovich, no. I do not work for him. Not directly. Though, you may want to keep an eye on him.”
Daniel studied the man, unable to detect a lie if there was one.
“Then why are you here?” Daniel asked before Cal could screw the only chance they might have to learn the truth. Then it hit him. “The girl. Lena.”
She’d come with them, almost willingly. Well, not quite, but she hadn’t resisted, like she was doing some sort of penance. Daniel had watched her for many hours. She was deep in thought, but when asked, she wouldn’t say
for what.
“Yes, the girl. Mr. Stokes, how much have you learned about your father’s time in Germany?”
Cal shook his head. “Not much.”
The man nodded as if he’d figured as much. “Then allow me to enlighten you. Your father’s last mission as an American spy in Germany involved a woman. We knew her. She was like family. This woman, barely into womanhood, married a man who was once a friend as well. They were expecting a child. They were spies and the woman became friends with your father. When your father found out that this woman’s husband was beating her, he lent her his ear. When she showed up to dinner battered and bruised, two months from delivering her first born, he knew he must do something. I did not know your father, but from all accounts, he was an honorable man. Now, through the proper channels your father arranged for this woman to defect. It was planned. He fetched her one night and deposited her into a car with a German security team. He wished her well and that was where it should’ve ended.”
The man looked up at the sky.
“That is not where it ended. The German security was paid off. They left the woman and the car exploded, killing both her and her unborn child. Your father was blamed for the debacle.”
“I didn’t know about the woman or the child. I’m sorry,” Cal said. He’d sobered enough to put the gun back in his lap. The blue lights still flashed behind them.
“That’s not the end of the story, Mr. Stokes. Our agents put the pieces together. Your father went after the ones responsible, though we do not know who they were. Those files have long since disappeared. But we did find a prostitute, well past her prime, who told us that she’d been paid to drug and seduce your father. I am told that the accusation was recently brought to your attention. I am here to tell you that your father was innocent. A man framed. You can rest easy that he did what was right.”