by Chris Ryan
‘Sure can, kid,’ said the driver, sliding open the side door of the vehicle. ‘Jump on in.’
Zak, Ricky and Malcolm tumbled into the back of the people carrier, slamming the side door shut. Zak caught a strong whiff of tobacco and, maybe, alcohol as the driver got behind the wheel and pulled away. Not a moment too soon. Through the tinted window of the vehicle, Zak saw three of the armed guards burst out of the terminal building.
‘I think that’s what they call a close thing,’ Ricky breathed.
Zak didn’t answer. He was too busy wiping the sweat from his brow. But he did notice the look the cab driver gave them in the rear-view mirror. It was sharp. Calculating. The friendliness had somehow fallen away. Zak scanned the front of the vehicle, looking for some sign that this was an official cab. There was none.
‘Looks like someone’s in trouble,’ the driver drawled. He sounded almost pleased about it.
A beat. Zak and Ricky exchanged a glance. A glance that said: ‘What the hell do we do?’
Ricky suddenly put his hand in his pocket and pulled out all the dollars he had. He held them up so the driver could see them. ‘These are yours,’ he said, ‘if you get us out of here without running into the police.’
The driver licked his lips and grabbed the notes. ‘You’re in luck, kid,’ he said. ‘Turns out that avoiding the police is something I’m pretty good at.’
Zak felt a small surge from the engine as the vehicle accelerated away from the airport.
13
ORDINARY KIDS
Ricky was drenched in sweat, despite the cold. As the car swung away from the terminal building, his attention was divided between the armed guards and the driver. He didn’t know which one he feared the most. The guards had just threatened to shoot them. But the driver had a look on his face that Ricky recognized from his time scavenging on the streets of London: the look of a man who’d do anything for a pay day. It also meant that this was not a man they should trust.
‘Don’t drive too fast,’ Zak said, his voice very tense. ‘It’ll be too suspicious.’
‘What you do?’ the driver asked. ‘Steal a bag of candy from one of the shops?’
Ricky and Zak exchanged another glance. ‘Yeah,’ Ricky said. ‘Something like that.’ He turned to Malcolm, who was looking unusually anxious and digging his fingernails into his palm. ‘You all right?’ he asked.
‘My laptop,’ Malcolm muttered, his voice slightly wild. ‘What if they find it? What if they hack into it? What am I supposed to do without it?’
Ricky had no answer. They fell into an uncomfortable silence.
They trundled down a slip road. The vehicle stank of cigarettes – Ricky saw a packet of Lucky Strikes and a pale red disposable lighter on the dashboard. ‘You saw the security cameras?’ he murmured to Zak. Zak nodded. They both knew what those cameras meant: it was only a matter of time before the Agency saw footage of them getting into the green people carrier, whose registration number they’d also be able to view. They couldn’t stay in this car for long.
The snow was very heavy – a billowing, twisting blizzard. Ricky could barely see anything through the window.
– The snow might be a good thing, said the voice in Ricky’s head. If it’s harder to make out individual cars, we’ll have a better chance of slipping past any police patrols.
– Maybe. But something tells me police patrols aren’t our only problem.
He glanced towards the front of the vehicle again. The driver’s eyes were flicking regularly between the road ahead and the rear-view mirror.
– He’s planning something.
– Tell me about it.
The driver swung onto a turnpike. Squinting through the swirling snow, Ricky saw a brightly lit overhead sign. He could just make out the word ‘Downtown’. Ricky had examined a tourist map of Anchorage on the plane, so he knew that meant they were heading north. Even as he read it, the driver indicated left. He pulled off the turnpike and down another slip road.
‘Where are we going?’ Ricky asked.
‘Short cut,’ said the driver. ‘Less traffic. Won’t be no police, this way.’
– He kept looking straight ahead as he spoke to you. He was trying to avoid eye contact. He’s lying.
– Keep your bearings. We’re heading east now . . .
They continued driving for five minutes. There were few cars here. The road was lined with tall, snow-laden fir trees, and more snow had drifted in high piles along the sides. The road itself was clear – maybe it had been well salted – but off road, the conditions were extreme.
Suddenly, Ricky’s heart almost stopped. He saw flashing blue neon in the rear-view mirror. It was hard to make out the distance, but maybe 100 metres.
Almost immediately, the driver swung left again. They turned down a much smaller road, which immediately wound round to the left, taking them out of sight of the bigger road. ‘Ain’t no police going to follow us down here, kids,’ the driver said.
Somehow that wasn’t a comfort. Ricky could see Zak eyeing the doors and the locks, and sizing up Malcolm, as if trying to establish if he was capable of making a sudden run for it. Not for the first time, Ricky wondered if they’d made a massive mistake, bringing Zak’s strange friend with them.
‘Where are we going, pal?’ Zak said. His voice was tense and wary.
‘Like I told you, short cut.’
The snow was falling even more heavily now. For the next five minutes, the road twisted and turned. It was almost impossible to work out their direction, but when the road finally straightened out a little, Ricky decided they were still heading east. The going was icier here, but the people carrier’s snow tyres were up to the job.
It was obvious to Ricky, however, that with each passing mile, they were heading further from civilization.
‘Stop the car,’ Zak said suddenly.
The trace of a smile passed the driver’s lips. ‘Well, you know,’ he said, ‘I might just do that.’ He didn’t stop immediately, but continued for another twenty metres before pulling over on the side of the road and killing the engine.
There was a deep, muffled silence. The driver looked straight ahead. Ricky could hear the tense, shallow breathing of his companions.
‘We’re paying you,’ Ricky said. ‘Now you need to keep your end of the bargain.’
That smile again. There was no humour in it. ‘Well, here’s the thing, kiddo,’ the driver said, still staring straight through the window at the blizzard outside. ‘Three things, actually. First thing: I’m pretty sure there’s a whole lot more of the green stuff where that came from. Second thing: storm like this, out in the wilds like we are, you ain’t getting no place without my help. And third thing: I don’t know why you’re on the run from the police, but I’m guessing you probably don’t want to make a big deal about someone like me helping themselves to your riches. Am I right, or am I right?’
– Maybe we can overpower him. Take control of the vehicle, use it to get back to the main road.
It looked to Ricky as though Zak was having the same thoughts. Malcolm, on the other hand, had gone paler than usual and was sinking back into his seat.
‘Oh,’ the driver said. ‘There was one other thing I forgot.’ He turned to look over his shoulder. ‘This part of the world, most everyone carries a gun.’
He raised his right arm. Ricky’s skin prickled as he saw the driver firmly holding a grey handgun.
‘Not a big deal, to get the better of three ordinary kids. And you might as well know that if I bury you in the snow, nobody’s going to find you till next spring. So let’s not make this any longer or uglier than it has to be.’ The driver pointed the gun from Ricky to Zak – he had obviously identified the two of them as his greatest threats. ‘Collect your bags, get out of the vehicle and keep your hands where I can see them. Try to run and I’ll pick you off like a goddamn grizzly.’
‘Look, mate,’ Zak said, ‘you’ve got the wrong idea. We don’t want any trouble. We’re
just here to visit our grandparents—’
‘Get out of the car!’
A tense silence.
‘Do it,’ Zak said.
Ricky slid the door open. The three of them climbed out. Ricky instantly felt himself sink into about thirty centimetres of snow.
‘Move round to the front of the car. And hands where I can see them!’ the driver barked. Ricky, Zak and Malcolm all raised their hands above their heads as they skirted round the vehicle – Malcolm standing about three metres away from the engine, then Zak, then Ricky. The swirling snow bit into their faces, and within seconds, Ricky could feel his body temperature plummet. He watched the figure of the driver shuffle round the front of the people carrier, then approach them, his weapon pointing directly at their chests. He stopped just half a metre in front of Zak. ‘OK, kids,’ he said. ‘Open up your packs. Let’s see what you’ve got.’
None of them moved.
‘I said, open up your packs!’
‘Sure,’ Zak said quietly. ‘But before we do, I’ve got three things to tell you.’
The driver looked almost amused as snow started settling on his clothes. ‘Oh yeah?’ he said. ‘Well, make it quick, son. I’m getting cold.’
– Zak’s distracting him. He’s getting him to lower his guard. You understand that, right?
– Right.
‘First thing: we’ve got nothing to give you.’
‘We’ll see about that, kid, just as soon as you’ve emptied out your pack.’
‘Second thing: I’ve got a feeling you don’t want to talk to the police any more than we do.’
The driver sneered. ‘And the third thing?’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Zak. ‘The third thing. That’s the most important.’ He leaned forward slightly, and as he did so, the driver mirrored his action. ‘The third thing is that we’re not ordinary kids . . .’
– NOW!
Ricky didn’t have to be told. His right arm shot out as a look of puzzlement crossed the driver’s face, cracking against the man’s gun wrist. A fraction of a second later, Zak had grabbed the gun, pointed it over his left shoulder and slammed his heel straight into the pit of the driver’s stomach.
The driver doubled over, spluttering and cursing badly. He still had his hands wrapped round the gun, but as Zak held his arm, he wasn’t in control of its direction. There was a sudden crack as the gun went off – it was surprisingly loud and sent such a shock through Ricky’s body that for a moment he thought he’d been hit – but then there was the sound of glass shattering. A round had slammed into the windscreen, and the glass had burst inward.
Zak and the driver were struggling, their feet sliding over the icy road. As they slipped towards the middle of the road, a second round exploded from the gun. It slammed into the side of the car, and petrol started glugging out. Ricky jumped forward to help Zak. He wrapped his arm around the driver’s neck and squeezed hard, as Zak wrenched the firearm from his fist then aimed a solid kick at the man’s ankles. Disarmed, he collapsed to the ground.
Zak was holding the gun with two hands. He was aiming it at the driver and had a fierce look in his eyes. Ricky held his breath. He found himself remembering Zak’s words: I know how to kill but I’ve never done it . . . Most people have a rite of passage . . . Maybe this is ours . . .
Surely Zak wasn’t going to shoot this guy in cold blood.
Snow swirled around them. The driver looked up at Zak, terrified.
Zak lowered the gun. Without even looking at it, he removed the magazine and chucked the remaining rounds out of sight into the distance, where they would sink into the snow. The driver scrambled to his feet. With a quick glance at his vehicle – which was obviously un-driveable – he scrambled back down the road. He disappeared into the gloom in the direction they had come from.
Silence. Malcolm was shivering by the side of the road. Zak stalked round the car, taking in the damage, the fire still burning in his eyes. Ricky stood still, his heart pumping, peering into the darkness. ‘What do we do?’ he asked tensely.
Zak joined him. ‘We can’t stay here,’ he said. ‘That driver won’t leave his vehicle to get covered in snow. He’ll bring someone as quickly as possible to remove it. Maybe even the police. We need to get away from here.’
‘We can’t use the road,’ Ricky said. ‘Not if people are out looking for us. It means going cross-country.’
Zak frowned for a moment and looked up. Ricky realized he was trying to see the stars, to help him navigate. But there was nothing visible except the thick, swirling snowflakes. Going cross-country was not an attractive option. Especially as they now only had forty-seven hours until the deadline.
‘I think this road runs east–west,’ Ricky said. ‘We need to get back to the city. That’s the only place we’ve got a chance of getting transport to the Bering Straits. Anchorage is to the north-west. That way.’ He pointed in what he thought was a north-westerly direction. It looked no different to any other direction.
‘Agreed,’ Zak said. He peered into the icy darkness, then gave Malcolm – who was still shivering by the side of the road – a slightly worried look. ‘It could be slow going, and dangerous in the snow. We need to be prepared.’ He looked over at the car, then back at Ricky. ‘Help me,’ he said.
Cruz Martinez stood over his captives. They were lying on the floor, unconscious, their hands still tied behind their backs, their ankles bound. Their breath formed clouds of condensation, but their breathing was shallow and the clouds were small. The gashes Cruz had inflicted on their faces had stopped bleeding, but now they were white and puffy. If anything, they looked more alarming.
Cruz was holding a handgun. He walked up to his prisoners and placed the gun less than a metre from the woman’s head, with the barrel pointing down to the floor. He fired. The retort of the weapon was deafeningly loud. The round it fired shot a crack in the concrete floor of the hangar. The prisoners’ eyes immediately opened, and their bodies shuddered as if they themselves had been shot. It was a brutal way to wake them. You could see the stress and terror in their faces. But that was exactly what Cruz had intended.
‘I thought you’d like to know,’ Cruz said, ‘that Agent 21 has landed in Anchorage.’
The woman’s eyes tightened. ‘How . . . do you know?’ she asked. It was clearly difficult for her to speak with her bleeding lip.
‘We have our contacts. The Alaskan police are in pursuit, but they seem to have lost him. You taught him well. Running away is clearly a speciality of his.’
The woman looked him in the eye. ‘You should . . . let us go,’ she said. ‘Better for you . . . long run.’
Cruz smiled. ‘I’m very touched that you’re so concerned for my welfare. No, I won’t be letting you go. I’m looking forward to seeing what kind of state he’s in, if he makes it this far alive. The Alaskan wilderness can be deadly at this time of year.’ He crouched down so that he was at eye level with the prisoners. ‘I almost forgot,’ he said. ‘Our sources tell me he’s not travelling alone. I did make it very clear to him what would happen to you if he failed to follow my instructions.’
The barrel of the gun was still warm. He placed it against the woman’s cheekbone. She inhaled sharply, but didn’t take her fierce eyes off him as his forefinger caressed the trigger.
Time stood still.
Then Cruz started to laugh, very quietly. ‘He’s got two little helpers,’ he whispered. ‘Kids. I don’t think we need to worry about them, do we? Three little kids for the Three Kings Day.’ He gave a hollow laugh.
The woman said nothing. But there was a strange expression on her face. It was almost like triumph. Cruz Martinez didn’t notice it. He lowered his gun, stood up and, still laughing softly, left the ice-cold hangar that he had converted into a prison.
14
FIRE-STARTER
01:00 hrs
The cold was biting and deep. They had only been standing still a couple of minutes, and already the heat of the fight had seeped out of Z
ak’s body. In its place, a profound and sinister chill. Before doing anything else, they needed to pull on the snow gear they’d bought at Heathrow.
As they stripped out of their ordinary clothes, Zak felt his body temperature plummet even further. All three of them scrambled into their cold weather gear. ‘Make sure you put on your base layer,’ Zak told the others. ‘It’ll wick the sweat away and stop the liquid freezing on your skin.’ He noticed how Malcolm’s thin body was juddering even more than his and Ricky’s, and had to help him get his fleece over his head. ‘You OK, buddy?’ he asked quietly. Malcolm didn’t reply.
‘What do we do with our old clothes?’ Ricky asked.
‘Dump them. We’re going to need the room in our rucksacks.’
Once they were fully dressed, Zak and Ricky got to work on the vehicle. There were precious resources here. It was worth risking a little time to gather them.
In the glove compartment, they found a metallic water canteen, a powerful torch and a sharp hunting knife. ‘Maybe we should fill the canteen with whatever fuel we can still get out of the tank,’ Ricky said. ‘We could use it if we need to make a fire to warm up.’
Zak shook his head. ‘We’ll need water,’ he said.
‘Mate,’ Ricky objected. ‘There’s snow all around. Can’t we just eat that? Get fluids that way?’
‘No way.’ Zak had been well drilled in cold weather survival by his Guardian Angels. ‘It can hurt your mouth and lips, and dehydrate you even further. Plus, if you’re already cold, eating snow will just make you colder. Better to melt it first.’ His forehead creased. ‘But you’re right, we might need to make a fire at some point.’ He slashed the driver’s seat with the hunting knife and started pulling out the spongy stuffing. ‘Soak that in petrol, then try and find a bag to seal it in. It’ll be good fire-starting material. But make sure you get any petrol off your skin. It has a lower melting point than water so can damage you if it freezes.’