Wildcard

by Rachel Lee

  “What should we expect from the Guatemalans?” a SWAT team member asked. “How good are they?”

  “I’ll turn that part over to Special Agent Anson,” Kevin said.

  Miriam rose and stepped to the podium. “First, never forget that these are a people who have been in a civil war for most of the last fifty years. Over a quarter million have died. Every one of those men up there has seen death, up close and personal. Friends. Parents. Brothers. Wives. Even children. The threat of violent death is an ever-present companion in their lives. They’re not going to cower.”

  “Neither are we,” the SWAT team leader said.

  “Fine,” she said, “but don’t underestimate them. Any one of them probably has more actual combat experience than all of you together. The one difference, though, is that unlike you, they’re going to adapt individually to whatever happens. Dixon’s going to lose command and control from the moment the first shot is fired. But don’t read too much into that. They’ll adapt individually, but they’re used to fighting together. Command and control is nearly intuitive for them. They’ve fought their way out of government ambushes before. Unless you take them down immediately, expect them to find cover and use it well.

  “And,” she added, “they’ll be used to mountain air. The cold may bother them, but the altitude won’t.”

  “Thank you, Special Agent Anson,” Kevin said, rising. “Okay, we’ll insert by helicopter, as near the pass as winds and weather will permit. We go in at fourteen hundred hours. That will give us about five hours of daylight to prepare our positions. At nightfall, we’ll rotate out of the line for rest and hot chow. Then we settle in and wait.”

  “Depending on their physical condition,” Peltrowski said, “they could reach the pass as early as midnight. But that would be exceptional. More likely it will be sometime after 2:00 a.m. It’s going to get awfully cold up there, so be prepared.”

  “We’ll be passing out thermoses of hot soup and coffee with your evening meals,” Kevin added. “Keep them tucked inside your vests, and don’t be afraid to consume them. The park rangers will be brewing up more at the command post, and we’ll be sending runners out through the night. You won’t be good to anyone if you’re half-asleep with hypothermia and dizzy with altitude sickness. Stay warm and stay sharp.”

  They made it sound so clinical, Miriam thought. And it never, ever was.

  Brown Pass, Montana

  Three miles past the head of Bowman Lake, the night had turned harrowing. Renate and Tom had found themselves following a nearly invisible trail through the snow and trees across the side of Thunderbird Mountain. It climbed precipitously, and there were places where one false step would have sent them tumbling over the edge. Nor had Tom been able to forget the constant threat of avalanche. As near as he could tell, no human being had been here since last autumn’s first snowfall. In more than one place a wind-carved cornice hung out, ready to slide its way to extinction if jarred even a little bit.

  The cold of the night seemed to help them, however. Everything stayed frozen.

  It was afternoon by the time they emerged into a meadow just shy of the pass. The wind blew stiffly here, and snow snakes wound their way across the surface with a ceaseless hiss. The air was thinner, too. The genuine breathlessness that had begun during their climb lingered even when they held still. Tom had a serious headache again, and felt sick to his stomach. When he looked at Renate’s face in its frame of fur, he thought she looked ill, too.

  “Water,” she said. “We need lots of water.”

  “But we’re almost to the pass.”

  She shook her head. “Now.”

  “They’ll be able to tell someone was here.”

  She shook her head again and pointed to some bushes thrusting up out of the snow. Or maybe they were trees. He had no idea what the snow depth here was. A hundred inches? Two hundred?

  He skied after her to the designated place and realized he was beginning to lose his coordination. Too tired. Too much effort expended in that nerve-racking climb. Despite frequent rest stops on their way up, he had the feeling he was teetering on the brink of total exhaustion.

  Renate seemed to feel little better. She needed his help shrugging off her pack. Together they sat on survival blankets and worked to heat some dried stew mixed with snow. While they waited for it, they munched candy bars, lots of them.

  When he was feeling a little better, Tom pulled out the map again and studied it. “If Kevin has any sense, he’ll go for them on the other side of the pass.”

  “Why?”

  “Dixon and his men will have to funnel through the pass, limiting their scope of maneuver. And the trail makes a steep descent there. Not easy to get back up.”

  “Right. So we should find a hiding place in the pass, no? And follow them down, so if anyone does try to come back up, we can block their way.”

  “Something like that. I’ll feel better when I actually see the terrain. There’s only so much you can tell from a topographic map.”

  He tucked the map in his pocket and pointed north. “That’s where the pass begins. Then it heads directly south.”

  All around them, mountains still loomed high, a reminder that treachery lay everywhere on this terrain. If anything could be said for the snow, it at least evened out the landscape a bit. Tom imagined that on foot all of this would have been a lot more rugged.

  Within a half hour, they had eaten and packed and were skiing upward toward the pass. Behind them, the wind whipped away their tracks.

  At the pass itself, they entered a forest of subalpine firs. The trail was easy to see again, an open passage through the trees. However, it also acted like a funnel, sucking the wind directly at them with enough force to make it feel as if they were gaining no ground at all.

  But the distance was a short one to a lookout that gave them a breathtaking view of all the mountains around.

  “My God,” breathed Renate in awe.

  Tom, too, was struck by the beauty of this spot, a place that felt so close to heaven he almost believed he could reach out and touch the wispy clouds above. Yet the mountains rose higher still, another four thousand or more feet above them, forbidding crags that told a tale of the incredible forces that had carved them.

  Then, amazingly, his eyes fell on a sign barely poking out of the snow: Goat Haunt. An arrow pointed the way.

  He pointed it out to Renate. “I think we should stay here. The trees will give us cover. And if they try to come back this way…”

  She nodded. “Here it is.”

  Fifteen Miles South of Long Island

  The day was dying, and the Morgans, father and son, were still bobbing in the waves well beyond sight of land. All day they had fished the warmer Gulf Stream currents while his father’s pilot, a guy named Mac, had steered the boat for them.

  It always made Edward nervous to be out this far on a boat with his father, and more so when the daylight was fading. Even though he knew Theodore Morgan could captain this vessel to Bermuda and back, Edward still wasn’t inclined to trust GPS and charts, or, even worse, his father’s dead reckoning.

  “About time to go back in, Dad,” he said, trying to sound relaxed. They’d each managed to catch a couple of nice-sized bluefish, so his dad could go home, like the caveman that had always been part of his personality, with fresh kill for dinner. Edward didn’t see the point and never had. He preferred his fish already filleted and cooked by a superior chef.

  “Not yet, Son,” said Theodore, even though he was putting away his fishing gear. “Our friends in Frankfurt are a little concerned.”

  Morgan sat upright, his heart slamming. “Uh…couldn’t we have discussed this over drinks?”

  “No. I wanted this time with you.”

  “Oh.” Edward found that strange. It was rare that his father wanted time with him. “I’ve enjoyed it.”

  “So have I. I understand Bookworm is still alive.”

  “I find that hard to believe. I saw her die….
”

  “And that you arranged the killing of an FBI agent.”

  “It was necessary!”

  “Perhaps so. But it was handled poorly, and as a result the FBI is now after Wes Dixon. You may think Dixon is expendable, but his wife does not. And she’s my only daughter.”

  “But—”

  “You fucked up, Son. In fact, I’ve learned that your prime contact at the Bureau is the man who has gone after Dixon. So something must have tipped him off.”

  “It wasn’t me! I closed that door when I killed that agent.”

  “Apparently someone else knew what he knew. That someone else being Kevin Willis, who apparently was not the good friend you judged him to be. We’ve survived and thrived on invisibility, Son. You’ve made us visible.”

  “Dad…”

  Theodore shook his head. “I’m sorry, boy, but you’re a weak link we can’t afford.”

  “But…” Edward could hardly believe his ears. Blood rushed in them, and his heart pounded until he felt it would leap from his chest. Surely his dad couldn’t be saying…

  At once he leaped from the bench seat and looked around, trying to find some way to defend himself. A boat hook would work…but the boat hooks were gone. Where were they? A piece of rope?

  He swung around, trying to find something, and froze as he looked straight down the barrel of a pistol. It was held in the hand of the man who had been helping them fish all day.

  “I’m sorry,” said the old man.

  “Dad, please!”

  But his father just turned and descended the ladder to the cabins, leaving him alone on deck with the man and the gun.

  “Look, whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it. Triple it! I swear!”

  The man simply shook his head.

  Thirty seconds later, Edward Morgan’s corpse was being tossed over the side into the dark blue water of the Gulf Stream. He might wash ashore someday. In Nova Scotia. Greenland. England.

  Or he might not.

  31

  Thunderbird Mountain, Montana

  Even these Guatemalan mountain goats he’d been training were finding the trail difficult, Wes Dixon thought as he called another rest halt. It was the snowshoes that were giving them trouble, he decided. Given the dirt floor of a jungle, they would probably have leaped along this trail like deer.

  But they were cold, too. Colder than they’d ever been. Even the time at his ranch hadn’t adequately prepared them, and he really hadn’t put a lot of expense into winter clothes, because, in theory, they wouldn’t have been needed when they finished their training.

  They were paying for that now. Damn Edward and his penny-pinching, anyway.

  Speaking of Edward… Wes signed to one of the men to take out the satellite phone and get him uplinked. Even though he didn’t want to admit it, he needed this rest as much as the youngsters. This trail rated only moderate difficulty in the summer, but right now it was hell.

  First he called his home phone to see if there were any messages. There were three from Katherine who was worried sick about him and told him to call her at Edward’s house. Wes’s heart squeezed as he heard her voice, squeezed with all the love he felt for her. All the love that had dragged him into this cesspool with her brother.

  Oh, to be fair, he had to admit there had been a time when he had believed in what Edward had asked of him. Now he wasn’t so sure; he hadn’t been since the assassination of the U.S. ambassador. Now all he wanted was to get back to his wife and a normal life.

  Then a rapid squawk told him Ed had sent an encrypted message. Dixon punched in the encryption key, then watched as the text scrolled across the digital display: BUREAU AMBUSH BROWN PASS

  Gritting his teeth against cold and fatigue, Wes dialed the Morgan household number and in a few moments was put through to Katherine.

  “Wes, I’ve been so worried!”

  “I’m all right, darlin’. I just had to go out of town on business.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “A couple of days. Then I’m going to fly out there and sweep you away to a second honeymoon.”

  She caught her breath, then laughed. “Honest?”

  “Honest. I miss you, darlin’. I miss you like hell.”

  “I miss you, too. I just…I just want to say one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Whatever my brother asked you to do…if it puts you in any danger, don’t do it. I’m sick of him and his conniving, and I’m sick of him using you.”

  It was something they had never discussed before, something that had, however, lain between them like a silent elephant ever since he’d left the army. His heart swelled, even as he realized that he had to go on lying to her. If Ed’s message was accurate, he probably would not get out of this alive. But she didn’t have to know that.

  “Honey, I’m getting myself out of it right now. When I come back to you, I’ll be a free man.”

  Her sob of joy was all he could hope for. He smiled into the teeth of the frigid wind. “A couple of days, darlin’. Then I’m all yours.”

  He disconnected and signed to the man to put the sat-phone away. Then, wanting to groan but biting the sound back, he rose to his feet and signaled for everyone else to do the same.

  “Vámonos,” he said. “We must go faster. And tell the men to get their night vision goggles from their packs and keep them inside their shirts. We’re going to need them tonight.”

  Brown Pass, Montana

  Night had fallen again. Throughout the afternoon, they had watched to the east as the Bureau troops arrived and began to take up positions below. Once or twice, Tom had thought he’d seen Miriam moving among them, but he was too far away to be certain. Renate had nodded her approval at the troops’ dispositions. By the time the sun fell, every position was thoroughly camouflaged, and the men vanished completely in the darkness.

  When Tom looked up, he saw the moon shadowed by icy high clouds that only slightly dimmed its light as they came and went. There were two moon dogs, images of the moon created on the icy crystals high above. Never before had he seen two of them.

  He pointed them out to Renate, who took a deep breath of appreciation. “This place is so beautiful,” she whispered. “Perhaps the most beautiful place in your country.”

  At the moment, he was inclined to agree. They had eaten more soup and stew, and had been drinking melted snow almost nonstop. Gradually his headache and nausea had fallen away.

  “It’s almost time,” he said.

  “Yes. I will go back through the trees farther up the pass. We need to know when they come.”

  He nodded. “But how will you let me know?”

  She smiled. “In my world, we come prepared.”

  Turning, she began to dig through his backpack. The next thing he knew, she was handing him a headset with a throat microphone, and a small transmitter that fit easily in his pocket. Then she donned a set for herself.

  “We’ll use these.” She pressed her throat mike as she spoke, and he heard her in his headset, only slightly delayed.

  “It works,” he said, pressing his own mike to his throat. She nodded, apparently hearing him in her headset, as well.

  “We are ready,” she announced, picking up one of the rifles. “I will let you know when I am in position.”

  Some vestige of male chauvinism reared its ugly head in Tom, telling him he ought to be the one heading back through the woods, but reality tamped it down. His leg was so stiff now that he was going to need a jolt of adrenaline the size of this park to make it possible for him to move with ease.

  He reached out and clasped her gloved hand tightly. “Be careful, Renate.”

  She squeezed back, pulled up her hood and began to make her way back through the trees that lined the trail.

  East of Brown Pass

  Miriam glanced at her watch. It was nearly midnight, and the men were getting antsy. Part of it, she was sure, was caged adrenaline at war with mind-numbing cold. In a conc
ealed cook tent, park rangers churned out chicken soup and hot coffee by the gallon, but eventually even that would fail to overcome the effects of lying motionless on icy ground in sub-zero temperatures.

  “We need to do a last rotation,” she told Kevin.

  He nodded and toggled his radio. “Command One to Section Leaders. Rotate your men by threes to the warming tents. Ten minutes each. Confirm.”

  There was silence for a moment before the radio crackled.

  “Alpha Section, copy.”

  “Bravo Section, copy.”

  “Charlie Section, copy. Command One, my men say they’re fine and we’re nearest the pass. Request we stay put and cover the rest.”

  “Negative, Charlie,” Kevin said.

  Miriam knew the highly trained SWAT team members were aggressive and confident, but all too often that could lead to complacency in taking care of the little details that kept a man functioning in difficult conditions. It was vital that Kevin take command and make sure the details didn’t get missed.

  Kevin keyed his microphone. “Charlie Section, I say again, negative on that. Rotate by threes to the warming tent. Confirm, Charlie.”

  “Charlie Section, copy,” the voice said with obvious disgust.

  Well, let him be disgusted, Miriam thought. At least disgusted he was alive. Miriam sipped a cup of soup and stamped her feet to keep the blood flowing. Kevin nodded to her, then stepped into as private a corner as they could find in the crowded tent. She followed.

  “I know we’re not alone on this mountain,” he said, speaking almost too quietly to be heard. “I also know you’re not going to confirm or deny that. I just hope he’s smart enough to keep his damn head down.”

  Miriam simply nodded.

  “I don’t know what’s going on here,” he continued. “And I don’t expect I ever will know. But I want you to know this, Miriam. If I’m right, I’m glad he’s alive. And if you ever talk to him, tell him I’m sorry.”

  She nodded again.

  “You’re a fine agent, Miriam. Best I’ve ever seen. When the shit hits the fan, I want you here in the command center, helping me keep track of where it’s flying. Not out there playing hero. Understood?”