There was a timid knock on the door. Utsyev wrapped a towel around his waist before he answered it. It was Kiseleva, dressed in a red plaid shirt and blue jeans. He looked like a typical redneck, thought Utsyev, and the outfit suited him. Kiseleva held out a bag full of clothing. 'Sagalle dropped these off. And there are two Jeep Grand Cherokee V8s outside.'
'Guns?'
Kiseleva nodded. 'A really sweet Colt.357 Magnum Python, a Smith amp; Wesson, and a couple of SIG-Sauer P230s with silencers.'
'Good. Are the others here?'
'They're in my room. We ordered sandwiches from room service.'
Utsyev took the bag. 'I'll be there in half an hour. Then we leave. Make sure they're ready.' He closed the door in Kiseleva's face and shook his head in annoyance. Why did Kiseleva think he'd want to know about the catering arrangements?
He showered and shaved before changing into his tourist's outfit: a gingham check shirt as tasteless as the one Kiseleva had been wearing, a pair of stone-washed denim jeans, a Navy pea jacket and hiking boots. He studied his reflection in the mirror.
It reminded him of how he used to dress, back in the Soviet Union; clothes worn for their function rather than their style.
His headache had gotten worse and he massaged his temples with the palms of his hands, trying to squeeze out the pain. His stomach felt queasy and he was definitely short of breath. He went down the corridor to Kiseleva's room. They were all there, six of them, sitting on the king-size bed eating club sandwiches and drinking coffee like a group of duck-hunters waiting for first light. A suitcase lay on the floor and Kiseleva opened it to reveal the handguns and ammunition. Sagalle had thought of everything. Utsyev didn't like being in Carelli's debt. He had no choice because he carried no weight in Colorado, but he knew that a price would have to be paid eventually. Men like Carelli didn't do favours from the goodness of their hearts. They made loans, that was all, and the time would come when Utsyev would have to pay the man back, one way or another.
Jenny nodded at Utsyev and raised her cup. 'Do you want coffee, Bzuchar?' She'd tied her hair up and hidden it under a fur-lined hat.
Utsyev shook his head. She was the only one of his team who ever used his first name. It was a privilege she had earned over the years. 'We ready?' he asked. 'Who's driving?' Vincenti raised his hand. So did Kiseleva.
The two Cherokee Jeeps arrived in Estes Park while it was still dark. The town had a deserted feel to it. There were no vehicles on the roads and the only living thing they saw was a young deer walking timidly across a side street. They drove through the town and came to a halt in a deserted parking lot illuminated by a single light. Vincenti climbed out and walked over to Utsyev's vehicle.
'What now, boss?' he asked.
'The rental agent,' Utsyev said. 'They'll have details of Freeman's cabin.'
'They probably won't open until nine,' Kiseleva said at his side. Jenny snorted in the back seat and Utsyev glared at his driver.
'We ain't gonna wait until they open, shit-for-brains. We ain't gonna go in and ask nicely like we were relatives up for a visit or something.'
'Sorry, boss,' Kiseleva said.
'Yeah,' Utsyev said coldly. He turned to Vincenti. 'You know what to do.' He handed over the brochure he'd taken from Freeman's house. 'We'll go out of town. It's gonna look too suspicious two Jeeps parked together like this. I'll see you back here in an hour.' Utsyev gestured for Kiseleva to drive and rubbed his temples again. Jenny leaned forward and held out her hand. Two white painkillers nestled in her palm. He took them gratefully.
Katherine opened her eyes and yawned. The horizon was a red smear and down below was a forest of pines. She looked at her watch and realised she'd slept for almost two hours, despite the noise and discomfort. Her mouth tasted bitter and she swallowed. Clive twisted around in his seat and grinned, handing her a Diet Coke. It was warm but she popped the tab and drank it gratefully.
'We'll be landing at Boulder within the hour,' he said through the intercom.
'Great,' she said, rubbing the back of her neck. She smiled but she had a feeling of impending doom. An image kept flashing through her mind of a big, hulking man in a dark overcoat, hiding in the shadows with a gun, waiting for her husband and daughter. She shuddered.
According to the map, the rental office was set back from Elkhorn Avenue, the main thoroughfare through Estes Park.
It was impossible to miss – next to the timber building with a sharply sloping shingle roof was a large billboard advertising the firm's services.
The building stood alone with a small parking lot behind it.
Vincenti parked by the rear entrance, next to which stood a line of trash cans like soldiers on parade. He switched off the engine and turned to Ostrovetsky in the front passenger seat, who was managing to make the spacious four-wheel-drive look cramped.
'You go and check it out. We'll wait here,' he said.
Ostrovetsky grunted and got out of the car. Vincenti and the remaining two passengers watched him amble over to the door and bend down to inspect the lock. 'He's a big one,'
Vincenti said.
'Used to be a college linebacker,' said the man sitting directly behind him.
'Yeah, he was gonna go pro, until the accident,' said the other man.
'What, he got hurt?'
'Nah. He killed a guy, practically took off his head.'
Ostrovetsky walked back to the Cherokee and Vincenti wound the window down. Ostrovetsky had to bend down to get his head
level with Vincenti's. 'Door's pretty strong. I can force it but it'll make a lot of noise.'
'What about the locks?'
Ostrovetsky held out his right hand. It was huge with thick sausage-like ringers. It wasn't the hand of a lock-picker. 'There's a window we can smash. It seems to lead into a storage room. But I won't be able to get through.' He waggled his massive shoulders and there was no need for further explanation.
Vincenti twisted around in his seat. Utsyev's men grinned at him. There was no doubt that Vincenti was the smallest of the four. 'Great,' he said. 'You go ahead and break the window, I'll climb inside.'
Vincenti started the Cherokee again as Ostrovetsky picked up one of the trash cans with no more effort than if he'd ¦ been lifting a tin of beans. Vincenti gunned the accelerator as Ostrovetsky charged forward and slammed the metal container into the window. There was a loud crash followed by the tinkle of falling glass, but it was all over in a few seconds and Vincenti doubted that anyone would have heard. There was no traffic on the road and the nearest neighbour was a ski shop which had a sign on the door saying it was closed until April. Vincenti joined Ostrovetsky by the broken window and they carefully pulled out the remaining shards of glass.
Ostrovetsky made a step with his giant hands and bent down to lift Vincenti through the window. Vincenti wasn't a small man, but Ostrovetsky lifted him with a minimum of effort, as smoothly as a hydraulic ram. Vincenti had to wriggle through and drop " face down on to the floor, holding out his hands to break his fall and rolling over on to his side. As he stood up and brushed dirt off his jacket he felt a sharp pain in his right hand and realised that there was a glass splinter in his thumb. He pulled it out and tried the door to the storage room. It wasn't locked and he found himself in a corridor. At one end was the rear door, and he slipped back the bolts and opened it. Ostrovetsky filled the doorway as he stepped inside.
The two of them walked through to the main office. It contained two large teak desks, several metal filing cabinets, a fax machine and a photocopier. On the walls were several posters of the Rocky Mountain National Park and a day-by-day calendar marked up with several different coloured pens. Vincenti studied it but there were no clues as to the whereabouts of Freeman and the girl.
The filing cabinets weren't locked. One of them was labelled 'Cabins' and Vincenti handed half the files to Ostrovetsky. As they went through them, they dropped the files on to the floor.
With the smashed window, there was no point in t
rying to cover their tracks. In fact they wanted to make it seem as much like an opportunistic robbery as possible.
'Got it,' Ostrovetsky said. He handed a photocopied map from the file to Vincenti.
'Perfect,' Vincenti said as he studied it. 'Nice and isolated.'
The small plane taxied to a halt and the co-pilot killed the engines. When the propellers had stopped whirling, Clive helped Katherine out on to the tarmac. 'Are you going to be okay?' he asked.
Katherine rubbed her ears which were still ringing from the prolonged engine noise. 'I just need to rent a car, that's all.'
'There'll be plenty of rental places in the main terminal,' he said. 'Do you want us to wait for you? You're paying for the return flight anyway.'
Katherine shook her head. 'No, you guys go on your own. I'll fly back with my family.'
'Are you sure you don't want the police?' Katherine hadn't told him why she was in such a hurry to get to Colorado, but he'd guessed that something was badly wrong.
'No. Absolutely not. I'll be okay.' She handed her headset to him.
'We probably won't leave until this evening. We'll have to get some shuteye. If you need us…'
Katherine stepped forward impulsively and kissed him on the cheek. 'Thanks,' she said. She turned on her heel and dashed towards the terminal.
Freeman woke to the smell of frying bacon and steaming coffee.
He pulled on his jeans and a shirt and padded to the kitchen.
Mersiha was in front of the stove, her hair tied back, wearing one of his shirts. He smiled at her bare legs and unkempt hair – they reminded him of how Katherine used to cook breakfast for him on Sunday mornings, soon after they were first married, in the good old days before she worried about his cholesterol intake. 'Full Scottish breakfast?' she asked.
'You read my mind.' He watched her as she turned back to the stove. She looked happy and relaxed. It was hard to believe it was the same girl who'd been crying in his arms the previous night.
'How long have we got?' she asked.
Freeman looked at his watch. 'About an hour.' It was six o'clock and the sun had yet to put in an appearance. Most of the stables bordering the Rocky Mountain National Park had closed for the offseason, but after thirty minutes' ringing around the day before Freeman had managed to find a small family-owned ranch on the edge of the national park which offered to take him and Mersiha for a trail ride so long as they were prepared to make an early start. It had been several years since Freeman had been in the saddle, and he was looking forward to it.
Mersiha slid a fried egg on to a plate and added bacon, sausage, mushrooms and fried bread. She put the food down in front of him. 'One thousand two hundred,' she said.
'What?'
'Calories.'
Freeman grinned at her. 'I've a busy day ahead of me. Growing boy like me, I need my food.'
She laughed, and it sounded like the real thing to Freeman.
'Dad, I hate to tell you this, but you stopped growing some time ago.'
He shrugged and tucked into his meal. 'Did you sleep okay?
After… you know…' His voice tailed off.
She shrugged noncommittally. 'No more nightmares, if that's for her defensiveness. 'That didn't come out right,' she said. 'I meant I slept just fine. How's the breakfast?'
'Fast disappearing.' She poured him a cup of strong coffee and he nodded his thanks. 'We should call Katherine this morning. After our ride, maybe. I didn't manage to get hold of her last night.'
'Sure.' Her eyes narrowed. 'Dad, about last night?'
Freeman raised his eyes expectantly. 'What?'
'You won't tell her, will you? About what happened to me?'
'Not if you don't want me to, no.'
She sighed with relief, then turned his wrist around so that she could see his watch. 'I'd better change.'
The girl at the car rental desk shrugged as she studied her computer. 'I'm sorry, Mrs Freeman,' she said. 'We don't have any four-wheel-drives.'
'I'll take anything you have,' Katherine said, dropping her gold American Express card and driving licence on to the counter.
'For how many days?'
Katherine lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. 'Just one.'
'I can offer you a Ford Mustang. How does that sound?'
'What about something bigger?'
'I have a Lincoln Continental.'
'Perfect'
'There's a telephone in it, but I won't charge you for that unless you use it.'
'Fine.'
'Will you require personal accident insurance?'
Katherine burst out laughing.
The two Cherokee Jeeps drove slowly down Devil's Gulch Road.
'It should be just there, on the right,' Utsyev said.
'Yeah, there's a turn-off,' Jenny said.
'That's it,' Utsyev agreed.
'Maybe it'd be better if one of us went in on foot,' Jenny suggested.
'Do you want to do it?' Utsyev asked.
'Sure,' she said. 'I could play the helpless little lady. Gee, I seem to be lost. Can I have a drink of water, pretty please?' She fluttered her eyelids.
'Maybe,' Utsyev said, not convinced.
'What's the alternative, Bzuchar? They're gonna know something's wrong if we all turn up at once. We're not exactly inconspicuous as a group, are we?'
'I just don't wanna lose them. If we spook them…'
'They're less likely to get spooked if they see me,' she interrupted. 'I'll talk my way into the house, then when I've got them covered… well, you know the rest. You'll have all the time you want…'
'… for a picnic,' Utsyev finished, grinning.
'Yeah. For a picnic'
He nodded his approval. He admired Jenny's guts. She wasn't afraid to make suggestions and to defend them if he didn't see things her way. The rest of his team were nothing more than yes-men most of the time, scared of offending him. When he asked for suggestions they'd look at each other like frightened rabbits, trying to second-guess him rather than telling him what they really felt. Jenny had more balls than any of them.
Figuratively speaking. 'Okay,' he said. 'We'll wait here.'
'Someone's coming, boss,' Kiseleva said.
A Ford Bronco drove slowly down the track that led to the Freeman cabin. A man was driving and in the passenger seat was a young girl, laughing and fingering her long black hair.
'It's them!' Utsyev hissed. 'Drive on. Quick.'
Kiseleva accelerated away and the second Cherokee followed.
The Bronco turned on to Devil's Gulch Road and drove northward.
'So much for my plan,' Jenny muttered in the back.
'You'll have your chance,' Utsyev said. 'Let's see where they're going.'
The two Cherokees did quick U-turns and drove after Freeman and his daughter, taking care to keep well back.
Dawn was only just breaking and there was still very little traffic on the road.
Freeman flicked through the channels on the radio until he found a country and western station. 'Might as well get us in the mood,' he said.
'Do you think they'll let us go up into the snow?' Mersiha asked.
'With the horses you mean?'
'Yeah. I've never ridden in snow before. It'd be really neat.'
'We can ask. If the horses are up to it, I certainly am.' He slowed down, looking out for the stable. The old man on the phone had warned that the entrance was easy to miss. He drove by a store selling Indian crafts, and a run-down bar, and braked sharply as he saw corralled horses off in the distance, A short while later he saw the entrance, little more than a packed dirt track that led to a ramshackle wooden bridge. He drove slowly over the bridge, looking down on a shallow stream which seemed to be frozen for the winter. The track curved by a small wooden cabin and up to a large red-painted barn. He parked the Bronco and Mersiha rushed over to the corral to look at the horses. A black and white gelding walked over to her and she blew softly up its nose, making friends. There didn't seem to be
anyone around so Freeman sounded his horn twice. The door to the log cabin opened and a gangly teenager appeared. He was wearing a turquoise shirt, too-tight Wrangler jeans, weathered brown boots and spurs that jingled while he walked. He introduced himself as Matt, their guide. He pulled on a faded denim jacket before leading two quarter-horses out of the barn.
'Can you both ride?' he asked.
'Sure,' Freeman said. 'Mainly English-style, though.'
Matt's upper lip curled. 'Western's pretty different,' he said.
'We've ridden Western before,' Mersiha said quickly.
'Yeah?' Matt sneered.
'Yeah,' she said. She patted the neck of one of the horses he was leading, a dark chestnut gelding. 'What's his name?' she asked.
'Red,' Matt said. 'He's a bit headstrong, so your dad should ride him.'
Mersiha gave Matt a cold smile and in a smooth, fluid movement slipped her foot into a stirrup and swung up into the saddle. Before Matt could react she picked up the reins, kicked the horse in the girth with her heels and urged it on.
With no apparent effort she walked the horse forward, then turned it left and rode it in a tight figure of eight. She pulled the reins in and the horse stopped dead, then, keeping her eyes on Matt, she pulled harder and walked the horse slowly backwards, then stopped it in its tracks again. She raised one eyebrow, daring Matt to fault her technique.
Freeman thought that Matt was going to yell at her, but a grin slowly spread across the teenager's face. He looked across at Freeman. 'She can ride all right,' he said.
'She's better than I am,' Freeman agreed. 'Maybe I should take the mare.'
'Okay. Her name's Sarah. You'll have to give her a good kick to get her going uphill, but she's steady as a rock. You want a three-hour trail ride, right?'
'Sure,' Freeman said.
'We can't go too high – there's some deep drifts up there and we had an avalanche over to the west a couple of days ago – but I can show you some of the lower trails.' He looked up into the bright blue sky. 'Got a good day for it, too. It was snowing some in Denver last night, but it looks like it's gonna miss us.' He went over to his own mount, a frisky white Arabian gelding tethered to a post to the side of the barn. The horse's ears pricked up as Matt untied him and climbed into the saddle. 'There are some rules we have to follow,' he said after Freeman had mounted his mare.
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