“Maric?” Billingham asked as he realized Jatko had fallen behind.
Radin looked back at Jatko and realized what was happening immediately. He held Jatko’s unblinking stare. “You are sure?” he asked.
Jatko nodded sharply. He reached inside his coat and drew out his 9 mm Glock. He worked the slide, turned on his heel and retraced his steps to the office.
“Milos?” Billingham said.
Radin reached out to place a hand on Billingham’s arm. He turned him, guiding him toward the exit. They had just stepped outside when the twin cracks of a 9 mm pistol sounded. They stopped, but only Billingham looked back to see Jatko stepping out of the office and crossing the warehouse to join them again.
“Dilemmas need to be resolved,” Radin said. “We were all aware Medusku was on the edge. Right from the start. Remember how he pushed Pavlic into running. He could easily have betrayed us too because of his own doubts. We should be grateful Maric had the courage to do what we all wanted but failed to carry out.”
It did make sense, Billingham realized. It also convinced him to keep any doubts he might have to himself, and not to air them in the presence of Maric Jatko.
Billingham waved a finger at him.
“Which is why we are here. To put this mess in order. I have too much going for me to back down because of Pavlic.”
Jatko nodded in agreement.
“Milos, have faith. We handled Tivik and the Malivik woman. We’re close to finding Dukas and the location of the disk. Be patient.”
10
They made final a attempt to contact Maple Lake. The radio emitted only muffled static. Casper switched off. “So much for modern technology.”
They had donned their backpacks, Bolan carrying his MP-5 in his hand, the Beretta 93-R in his shoulder rig under his parka. Dukas still had the pistol Bolan had given her and Casper had a 9 mm Browning in a hip holster. They wore caps and thermal gloves.
“We set?” Bolan asked.
“You believe those people might show up?” Casper asked.
“They’ve done it so far. It isn’t beyond their capabilities to work out where we were heading. Sooner or later this has to come together.”
“Okay.”
“Bud, you lead. Head toward Maple Lake,” Bolan said.
“Erika, I want you between me and Bud. Keep close everybody. It’s easy to get separated in this weather.”
Dukas nodded, turning as Casper opened the hatch and the chill wind blew into the cabin. They moved out of the Cessna, Casper closing the hatch and securing it.
They strung out in the formation Bolan had ordered, heads down against the stinging wind and snow. Visibility was poor, and it was apparent that Bolan had made the correct assumption. It wouldn’t take much to get lost if any of them stepped away from the collective line of travel. Casper checked his position, indicated which way they needed to go and led the way. The dark outline of the Cessna quickly vanished as they crossed the open clearing, heading for the line of timber ahead.
Bolan kept his focus on Dukas as well as the surrounding terrain. His regard for her rose higher. Despite the trauma of the last day or so she was staying with the game. As she trudged through the thick carpet of snow, shoulders hunched against the slap of the wind, she made no protest. Her friendship with Tira Malivik had thrown her to the wolves, and had placed her in the position of having to take a life in order to survive. And she was coming through it. Taking whatever the situation threw at her. Bolan knew that took a special kind of courage—and it appeared that Erika Dukas had it within her. Bolan had accepted responsibility for her and in his book that carried an unspoken bond to see this through to a conclusion.
They walked for more than two hours, Casper’s natural instincts allowing him to guide them with confidence. The pilot had that built-in homing ability that Bolan had seen in Jack Grimaldi on more than one occasion. In the air, or on the ground, the pilots developed a strong sense of direction that took them wherever they wanted to go with unerring accuracy. If the severe weather and mechanical failure hadn’t forced Casper to make an emergency landing, Bolan was confident he would have put them down on the airstrip they had been heading for. But nature had a way of changing drastically, without prior warning, and putting up barriers that negated planned intentions. When that happened the only course was to roll with those changes and move on.
BOLAN NOTICED CONDITIONS WERE changing and called a halt. He led Dukas and Casper to the comparative shelter of some trees. Dukas leaned in close and asked what was wrong, her voice faint against the buffeting wind.
“More snow coming,” Bolan said. He raised a hand and indicated the swirling cloud of white moving in from the higher slopes. “It’s heading our way.
“If that hits before we get to Maple lake, or any kind of cover, we could really be in for trouble,” Casper said.
“Is that your whiteout?” Dukas asked.
“It’s brewing up for one.”
She stared at Bolan. “Mr. Cooper, you really pull out all the stops for a first date.”
“What can I say.”
Bolan was about to move them out when he saw a dancing red spot on the front of Casper’s coat. For a split second he couldn’t believe it.
A laser dot. Somebody had them in his sights.
“Back,” Bolan shouted, bringing up the MP-5.
The stuttering crackle of autofire added to his warning. Slugs chewed at tree bark, showering them with debris. Bolan planted a hand flat between the young woman’s shoulders and shoved hard. Her strangled cry was lost as she fell facedown in the thick snow. A second volley followed, the line of slugs kicking up snow as it closed on Bolan and Casper. It was the pilot who moved a fraction too slowly. He caught a slug in his left thigh and he stumbled, slamming against a thick tree trunk. As he made to pull himself around, more slugs thudded into the trunk. One hammered into his left shoulder, spraying a bloody mist as Casper slid around the tree and pitched into the snow.
Bolan dropped to a crouch. As his eyes picked up the shooter moving forward from deep snow cover, swinging his weapon for another burst, Bolan brought up the MP-5 and locked on his target. He held his shot until he was sure, then stroked the trigger and fired a short burst.
The instant he fired Bolan adjusted his aim slightly and fired once more. The first burst hit the man in the throat, the follow-up cored into his chest. The shooter went flat on his back, arms wide, eyes open and staring up at the snow-laden sky.
Dukas was on her knees beside Casper.
“Do what you can. I’ll be back,” Bolan said, turning away and running to where the downed shooter lay. The discarded weapon lay in the snow beside him, an M-16 A-3 with a laser sight mounted on a picatinny rail. Bolan crouched beside the still form. He found a Glock 17 and tucked it in his belt. He checked the man’s pockets and found some extra clips for the handgun and more for the M-16 in belt pouches. He saw the GPS unit the man had been carrying from a neck strap. One of Bolan’s slugs had plowed directly into the unit, shattering the casing and destroying the tracking capabilities. There was a transceiver clipped to the man’s belt. Bolan took it and pushed it into a pocket. Then he picked up the M-16 and slung it from his shoulder.
He returned to where Dukas had opened her backpack, dragging out a shirt. He handed her a lock knife from his pocket and she sliced the material into strips. With Bolan’s help she wadded cloth over Casper’s wounds, then tied them in place with longer strips.
“This isn’t going to help long-term,” she said. “He’s going to need medical attention.”
“He is listening,” Casper said. He glanced at Bolan. “These jerks chasing you are getting to be a pain.”
Dukas forced a smile.
“Welcome to our little club,” she said. “Cooper and I have been banging heads with them longer than I’ve cared to.”
Casper tensed as pain surged and engulfed his shoulder and leg. He bit down on the pain, unable to speak until the spasm ebbed away.
“We need to get him under cover,” Dukas said. “He needs warmth and somewhere to rest.”
Bolan was fully aware what was needed. Casper’s wounds were not going to respond outside. Warmth and rest would help, Bolan knew, but on the mountain slopes that kind of thing lay beyond even Bolan’s capabilities.
“How far to Maple Lake?” he asked Dukas.
“A long way in these conditions and on foot.”
“You see any alternatives?”
“Give me a minute.”
She checked their position, scanning the slopes for landmarks. It wasn’t easy with the heavy snow. She walked around until she was satisfied.
“Don’t hold me to this, but I’m pretty sure we’re about four miles northwest of a local spot called Tyler’s Peak.” She indicated the direction. “That way. If I haven’t misread, we should be less than two miles from a relief station. It’s a cabin the town had built a few years back after people got lost in weather like this. It’s maintained by the town council. I wouldn’t expect to find anyone there, but they keep the places stocked with survival equipment. There might even be a radio.”
Bolan glanced at Casper.
“If we can locate this cabin it should give us a chance.”
“So why am I still lying here?” Casper asked.
Handing Dukas the MP-5, Bolan helped Casper to his feet. The injured pilot swayed a little, then accepted Bolan’s supporting arm. They moved off slowly, setting a pace Casper could maintain without too much diskomfort. The thick snow underfoot slowed them even more.
Dukas took the lead. She tested the way ahead for any hidden pitfalls beneath the blanket of fallen snow. Watching her, Bolan was impressed by her newly developed confidence. She was a determined survivor.
“You think there are any more close by?” Casper asked.
“Hard to say. I didn’t see anyone with that guy. He may have separated from the others. Or maybe they’re spreading themselves wide to up their percentage. Looks like his team is equipped with GPS units. Makes it easier for them to plan their way around.”
“Good to know,” Casper said.
Bolan checked out the high slopes.
“If that whiteout hits, even GPS units aren’t going to be much help.”
“I’m not about to hold my breath on that,” Casper said.
Bolan agreed. There had to be more out there.
They made reasonable progress despite having to stop occasionally to allow Casper to rest. He wanted to keep moving, but Dukas was insistent that he take time out.
“She always this bossy?” Casper asked.
Bolan nodded.
Dukas ignored them.
“I think she likes us really,” the pilot said.
Bolan had eased the man down so he could rest against a slab of rock. He checked Casper’s wounds, using more of the torn shirt to make pressure pads to reduce blood loss.
“We still on track?” Bolan asked Dukas.
She indicated the distant rock formation she had called Tyler’s Peak.
“As long as we keep that cleft as our central point, we’re fine.” She took a long look at the sky. “Just under an hour and we start to lose light. It gets dark quickly up here too.”
“And cold,” Bolan said. “Let’s move on.”
Bolan sensed a change in the wind. He threw a quick glance in the direction of the high peaks he had checked earlier. What he saw confirmed his suspicions.
The whiteout was heading their way. The seemingly solid fog of snow sweeping down off the slopes was closing on their position. If it hit before they reached cover, they would be overwhelmed, lost in a blinding cloud of all-encompassing snow. Direction would be meaningless, their senses nullified, and if they survived the extremes of snow, the freeze that often followed would stop them.
The snowfall thickened, reducing visibility and hampering their progress as it was pushed about by the eddying wind coming off the high peaks. It clung to their clothing and chilled their exposed faces. Casper stumbled a number of times, his deadweight falling against Bolan. Each time it happened, he apologized profusely. “Damn it, Coop, sorry.”
“No problem.”
“I feel like a useless idiot. Slowing you down and all. You’d have a better chance without me.”
Dukas, close to Bolan’s side, overheard the remark. “Don’t you dare say that, Bud. Maybe those people chasing us could do that to one of their own. We don’t.”
“Well, I consider myself told,” he said.
Bolan adjusted his grip on the wounded pilot as they moved on. “I warned you how she gets,” he said.
“So you did.”
THE LIGHT FADED QUICKLY, shadows sweeping across the snow-covered slopes. Bolan found it harder to keep the distant marker they were homing on in clear sight.
Casper was becoming weaker. He struggled to stay awake, but finally even his resolve was exhausted and he passed out. Bolan caught him before he fell, lowering the unconscious pilot to the ground.
“Erika.”
She turned back at his call. “What is it?”
“Bud passed out.” Bolan was checking the bandages. They were sodden with the blood that had leaked through the material.
“Will he be all right?”
“If we can reach cover we can do something. Out here the only thing we have in plentiful supply is snow and cold.”
“We should be close now,” she said. Her face was showing signs of her own exhaustion. Bolan reached out and grasped her shoulder, shaking her none too gently.
“You can rest later,” he said. “Right now we keep moving. Let’s do it.”
He deliberately used a harsh tone. The need to stay on their feet was the only thing that mattered right now. If they allowed their fatigue to dictate their actions, it would have been too easy to simply lie down and sleep. It was the insidious way that the cold played tricks with the mind, suggesting that they give up and let themselves slip into the soft embrace of exhaustion. From that it was a short step to a comatose state and a frozen death. The drop in temperature affected mobility and the ability to think coherently. They had to ignore the demands of the mind and force themselves to move on.
Bolan hauled Casper upright and hoisted him over his left shoulder. He paused for a moment to get his balance, then reached out with his free hand and pushed Dukas into motion.
“Now find that damned cabin,” he growled.
Dukas pushed forward, her anger rising at his demands, and she hunched her shoulders against the bite of the wind.
“Just you watch,” she shouted. “I’ll find your cabin. Just you watch.”
Behind her Bolan nodded at the anger in her words. His challenge got the response he wanted. She was mad enough now to walk clear across the Rockies without stopping.
11
Half buried by the drifting snow, the cabin might have been missed by someone not familiar with the local topography.
When Dukas finally recognized the location, she could have wept if she hadn’t been so tired. She tramped through the thick snow and reached the solid wooden door, hoping the cabin hadn’t been secured. She leaned against the door and worked the metal latch. It gave easily. She shoved hard and the door opened. Turning, she raised a hand to beckon Bolan. Her face registered sudden alarm, and Bolan threw a glance behind.
A wall of dense snow was sweeping in toward them. For a second Bolan was held immobile at the sight.
It was the whiteout, moving in on their position with an inexorable swiftness, tumbling mists of lighter snow preceding the solid bulk. He could feel the pressure pushing ahead of it, felt the threatening mass tumbling over the landscape and obliterating all in its path.
“Inside,” he shouted above the harsh sound. “Just get inside.”
He was already close behind, and she moved aside so he could step in. She turned, slamming the door and securing it with the internal bolts. As the final one slid into place she felt the solid thump as the rush of snow struck and swept over the cab
in in its headlong sweep. The structure of the cabin shook. A dusting of snow filtered down through fine cracks in the roof beams.
From previous visits, she knew there were oil lamps stored on wall hooks. She made her way across the near-dark interior and found the lamps. On a small shelf above the lamps was a tin box that held matches. She took one out and struck it, lighting the lamp and turning it up the moment it flared.
There was a bank of wooden bunks against the rear wall. Bolan carried Casper over and placed him on one of the lower bunks. He immediately began to expose the man’s wounds. Dukas took the lamp and set it down close by.
“I’ll find the emergency kit,” she said.
Bolan was removing Casper’s bandages. Dukas lit a second lamp. then found the first-aid kit. Kneeling beside the bunk she opened the kit and let Bolan take what he wanted. From the way he operated it was obvious he had done this kind of thing before, so she removed herself and went to check the wood-burning stove. There was chopped wood in a box next to the stove. She located some splintered shreds she was able to use for kindling and got the stove lit. She fed in wood gradually until the stove started to give off heat. The warmth, as slight as it was initially, felt so good she would have stayed where she was if the situation hadn’t been so desperate. As the hot air rose up the chimney, she heard the hiss of snow melting off the exposed peak.
She searched the supplies and found cans of food in a sealed carton.
“How is he?” she asked.
Bolan pulled a couple of blankets across Casper.
“As well as he’s going to be until we can get him to a hospital.”
He used an antiseptic wipe to clean his hands, and Dukas saw how slow his movements were.
“My turn to give the orders now,” she said. “You go sit by the stove. I’ve got soup heating.”
“Anytime I get stuck in a snowstorm I hope you’re around, Erika Dukas. You make one hell of a guide.”
She held his gaze, long enough to make her blush. Casper began groaning loudly enough to break the impasse. Bolan turned to check his patient.
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