by Debra
Clint dropped to his knees, his hand clutched over the chest wound, blood oozing through his fingers, spreading across his shirt. Charly rushed to his side, doing her best to contain the bleeding, but Will knew it was a lost cause. A shot like that would’ve been fatal if they’d been standing fifty paces from a trauma center. Up here, in the middle of nowhere, Clint didn’t stand a chance. In silent fury, helpless to intervene, Will swore as he watched the macabre scene unfold.
“Take the radios.”
One of the men came forward and took the devices right off Charly and Clint. She was too focused on helping Clint to protest. Will couldn’t blame her. Damn it. She’d be dead by morning at this rate. Mission protocol or not, he couldn’t accept that. There had to be a way to get her out of here.
“Search the packs for a phone or anything else she might use against us.” Lancaster barked out more orders about breaking camp before aiming his gun at Charly once more.
Will watched as her revolver, ammunition and flare gun were confiscated. Their cover blown, it didn’t surprise him to see the operatives making their own weapons more accessible. He counted three rifles and each man moved a handgun into view. Two of them were left-handed. Those were just the weapons he could see—he had to assume there were more out of sight and plenty of ammunition to spare. A pretty big arsenal for a team of software engineers, but about right for mercenaries looking for a big payday.
“Get up.” Lancaster gestured with his gun.
“I’m not leaving him.”
Lancaster dropped to one knee, his voice low, the threat unmistakable. “I’m tired of you hindering me. I want your full cooperation.” He tugged at her arm, but she wrenched away. “Get up. We’re moving out right now.”
“Go ahead and kill yourselves. I won’t stop you. I’m staying with Clint.”
Lancaster pushed to his feet, stalked a few paces away to talk with his men. The argument was loud and heated and centered around the tracking device Max carried. Even highly trained mercenaries had to sleep sometime. When they did, Will would make his move.
He ached for Charly, understanding how she felt. He’d lost teammates on operations and while he hadn’t been there when it happened, he carried the burden of his younger brother in what was left of his heart.
She had to know Clint wouldn’t survive, but she refused to give up on her friend. He respected the emotion fueling her determination, but he worried how she would cope when the adrenaline wore off and the grief set in.
She started to sing, rocking gently with Clint in her arms, and the strange words raised goose bumps on his arms. Clearly a song from her Native American heritage, the cadence and tune, the rise and fall of her voice felt older than time and completely in tune with the wilderness. Lancaster and his men stopped and stared as her voice rose, powered by her sorrow.
Will could even the odds right now, maybe take them all, but any miscalculation would put Charly in the crossfire. He dragged his attention back to the real problem: Lancaster. Only one thing would push the man this close to madness: Lancaster’s revenge. Will felt certain the Blackout Key was somewhere on this mountain. It didn’t matter if it made sense; he had to follow the most logical lead. Will could bide his time, take out Max and the tracking device, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Charly alone with this deadly crew.
If there was one thing Will managed on every op, it was getting creative when it mattered.
Chapter Seven
Clint was dying. In her arms. Charly felt him fading with every labored breath, every weak flutter of his heart. The copper scent of his blood choked the air.
A stronger woman would stand and fight, but that would leave Clint to die alone. She couldn’t save him, but she wouldn’t let him bleed out on the cold, unyielding mountain without any comfort.
Lancaster shouted at her, tugged at her, but she didn’t listen. One of his men seized the radios and their packs. None of that mattered. Her hand pressed to her friend’s wound, she tried desperately to slow the bleeding. Despite the losing battle, she put on a brave face. “It’s not that bad,” she murmured. “You’ll make it.”
“Right.” He looked at her out of glassy eyes, his lips twitching in an effort to grin. “Could be worse.”
She understood the sentiment even as her heart clutched with agony. In their line of work, accidents were inevitable, natural disasters a daily risk. Safety precautions failed. Between her friends and family, they often discussed there were worse ways to die than under a big sky in nature’s embrace, doing what they loved.
“You’ll make it,” she repeated.
His head jerked to the side and his breath stuttered. “Get away.”
“Together,” she insisted. His eyelids drifted shut and she willed them to open one more time. It was too soon for goodbye. “Clint.” She gave him a little shake with her trembling arms. “Hang on. We’ll find help.”
She rambled more nonsense as her elders’ chants of sorrow whispered through her mind, echoed through the trees. Words and prayers that should be spoken for Clint, over him, and she was the only one to speak them. If she couldn’t save her friend, at least she could honor him.
The words were soft at first, but her voice gained strength as Clint’s life drained away. She let the songs and the spirit behind them flow over him like a gentle rain. Tipping her face to the clear night sky, the soft breeze dried her tears as she called on the heritage beating through her heart to guide and protect Clint on his next journey.
She finished the prayer, let the final note drift into the coming night. Opening her eyes, she looked down at her bloodstained hands, at Clint’s lifeless body, and felt gravity dragging her down.
“Move out.”
Lancaster’s voice was hard and ugly and Charly ignored him. Her work wasn’t done. She walked toward the shallow creek and knelt down, washing the blood from her hands.
“We’re moving out.” Lancaster hauled her to her feet.
“Good luck to you.” She wouldn’t waste energy hurling fury at him. She would not taint the grace of the moment or the task ahead by slinging insults and venom at the man who stole Clint’s life. There would be time for that later. “I must bury my friend.”
“A futile, sentimental gesture.”
Her body coiled to strike, to lash out, but it would be a useless gesture and prevent her from completing a necessary task. “Clint deserves better than to have animals tearing at his body.” She picked up a stone only to have Lancaster knock it from her hands. She picked it up again, imagining herself in a Teflon bubble, his anger sliding off her as he followed her back to the body.
“Have you ever seen what scavengers can do?” she asked no one in particular. “You wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy.” Back and forth, she hauled stones one by one to cover Clint.
“On top of that,” she continued in her educational tone, “all the blood will attract predators. Are you prepared to outmaneuver them?”
Around her the men argued, uncertain how to proceed. Lancaster wanted to keep moving, others wanted to wait. All of them thought she’d lost her mind, but they were divided about the wisdom of leaving her behind. In a tiny corner of her mind Charly listened, amused, while her body kept on task.
“Pick up your pack or I’ll shoot you, too,” Lancaster threatened, his gun aimed at her face, when she’d placed yet another stone on Clint’s incomplete grave.
“Go ahead.” She turned her back on him, refusing to cow to his bluster and bullying. “You and your gadgets will have all kinds of fun up here without me.”
More arguing was silenced by a wolf howl slicing through the night.
“Scavengers,” she said.
“There are wolves out here?”
She didn’t stop moving, but she slid a look at Jeff, the man who’d asked the question. “Didn’t you listen at all? There are wolves, snakes, mountain lions, bears—”
“Shut up!” Lancaster bellowed.
With a shrug, she continued her w
ork, not surprised Jeff joined her.
“What the hell are you doing?” Scott demanded, blocking Jeff’s attempt to help her bury Clint.
“The sooner we get this done, the sooner we get out of here.”
“Thank you,” Charly said. “Clint wouldn’t approve of being an easy meal.”
Her back ached; her hands were cold and bleeding with fresh scrapes on her knuckles and palms. The sting felt good, reminding her she was alive and doing the right thing. Not just for Clint, but to defy Lancaster.
Knowing it made them uncomfortable, she started to sing again, the old creation story-song her grandmother had taught her. It had been one of Clint’s favorites. Charly decided she would sing all of the songs of her childhood to honor Clint and keep Lancaster and his men on edge.
No one usually cared that she was part of the Ute nation. Her clients typically only asked about her Native American lineage when she led them down into the pueblos and canyons. Why couldn’t Lancaster have headed that direction? The pueblos were riddled with places to lose these guys. Even better, that area was littered with ways to scare them to death and even up the long odds against her. That would’ve been fun.
It would take cleverness and a good share of luck to escape all seven men up here. On this part of the ridge, there were thick stands of trees, but also wide-open places. They were armed, but she had the real advantage. She knew her way over every inch of wild land east of the Four Corners Monument all the way to Telluride. She knew what the mountain offered by way of protection and danger. If she could be patient, she could clip them off one at a time, like a wolf culling a buffalo herd.
The image made her smile.
“What are you so happy about?” Lancaster had stepped into her path once more. “Your friend is dead and you’ll join him when I’m done with you.”
She looked straight into his eyes and thought she saw the glare of madness, something he’d hidden well when he hired her yesterday. “It would be an honor to join my friend. There are worse ways to die than out here under the big sky.”
“You’re crazy.”
Possibly. Right now she didn’t care if he shot her and she sure as hell didn’t care about his opinion of her sanity. With a shrug, she stepped around him, determined to finish the burial. “Takes one to know one,” she said, resuming her story-song.
Rich joined Jeff’s efforts, and she couldn’t get angry about their help. Soon Clint’s body and the bloodstained earth around it were covered. The rocks glowed pale in the light of the rising moon.
One of Lancaster’s men had started a fire, effectively ending the discussion of moving on tonight. If she’d known which man, she might’ve thanked him. Exhaustion crept up on her, and her limbs felt heavy as she rested near Clint’s grave. But though her eyelids drooped, she listened to the talk of the men around her. They weren’t careless enough to reveal the specifics, but whatever beacon they were following appeared to be on the other side of the peak.
She fought the urge to laugh. Assuming the beacon’s signal wasn’t distorted by the mountains, Lancaster and his men would soon discover just how much wide-open space they would have to cross to reach their goal.
She didn’t argue when it was decided she’d spend the night tied to a tree away from the fire, away from Clint. She didn’t care that Jeff would take the first watch as her guard.
Lancaster allowed her the use of her sleeping bag and a bottle of water only so she’d be more useful tomorrow. Jeff found the small knife she kept in her boot when he tethered her to the tree with nylon rope, but he didn’t raise the alarm, merely pocketed it without a word.
In her anguished haze she felt some remorse that she’d have to hurt the one man in this crew with a shred of decency, but it had to be done. She would not be here when Lancaster woke in the morning.
* * *
WILL LISTENED TO the men argue as Charly slowly buried Clint. Unsure how much of the conversation she heard, he marveled at her unwavering behavior in the face of their cold discussion about killing her.
He’d certainly never seen anyone as resolute in a task as Charly hauling rocks to cover Clint’s body. Hopefully it wasn’t a sign that she’d snapped. Even if it was, he’d get her off this mountain in one piece so she could recover with people who loved her.
When Will was convinced Lancaster wouldn’t shoot her out of temper or spite, he backed away from the camp, moving through the shadows until he couldn’t hear her haunting voice any longer.
At the edge of a tree line, he paused and gathered himself before he even attempted to make the call to Casey. He’d seen men die. He’d been responsible for putting more than a few bad guys out of commission. But never had he witnessed anything as beautiful as the tribute Charly paid Clint.
The memory of his brother’s funeral slammed to the front of Will’s mind. He didn’t want to go there, had more than enough to deal with, yet he knew better than to fight the onslaught. When those memories were triggered, they faded faster if he simply let them flow.
The chapel had been standing room only, the casket closed. He’d walked forward to join the family—his parents—only to realize too late that there wasn’t a seat for him. His mother had lifted her blotchy, tearstained face and stared at him with so much blame the words weren’t necessary.
After so many times rehashing and reliving that terrible moment, Will expected the bitterness and ache to fade, but it remained fresh and raw.
He’d never heard anything as haunting as Charly’s voice raised in that strange benediction. At first he’d thought it was grief, but he’d seen plenty of that along the way. Her song or prayer or whatever it was had clearly been offered as tribute for Clint.
He knew it was natural in the wake of death to think about his mortality. Will knew no one would ever grieve that way for him. He couldn’t dwell on it because it was part of the job. As a SEAL he’d accepted the possibility of dying anonymously in the line of duty. He considered it an honor.
Pulling in a deep breath of the cold night air, he steeled himself for the work ahead. Nothing had changed except the number of innocents in the equation. He checked the signal on his phone and despite the miniscule single bar, he dialed Casey’s office.
As the phone rang on the other end of the line, Will resolved that when they got off this mountain he would have Charly tell him about her song for Clint. It always helped him to have an end goal on a mission, especially a mission with long odds and high stakes. One against seven could almost be fun, as long as Charly came through unscathed.
The director answered, and Will snapped to full alert.
The signal was remarkably clear this time. “Lancaster shot one guide. The crew is camped for the night, but determined to reach the summit and points north ASAP.”
“Still following a beacon?” Casey asked.
“Yes, sir. Could he have put it on the key somehow?”
“That’s my fear. We’ve connected a few dots. Lancaster didn’t disappear until a plane he was expecting to meet in Los Angeles never showed up. It’s possible the software, or someone transporting it was on the plane, but I don’t have any names to work with yet.”
“I haven’t heard any news of a plane crash around here,” Will replied. Surely that kind of thing would’ve caught someone’s attention.
“We know it was a small private charter. If it was off course or skirting radar systems, no one would know.”
True. Calling in a helicopter to search for a missing plane was out of the question. Up here, in the thin air, there had to be a starting point and a reason to justify the risk. Neither was available with the limited intel. The altitude and terrain would cause all sorts of problems for both plane and helo pilots.
Will felt the weight of the world drop onto his shoulders. He and Charly—and a mountain—were the only things standing between Lancaster and whatever he had planned.
“Everything in the Los Angeles office and home point to a revenge strike against the big developers,” Casey
said. “After his long silence he wasn’t even trying to hide his hate and vengeance anymore.”
“Which means he’s all or nothing out here.” Great. Will sighed, rubbing the knots of tension at the base of his neck.
“Exactly,” Casey agreed. “If the software was on that plane, he’ll do anything to reach it.”
“Could the key even survive the crash?”
“Lancaster must believe it has.”
“He’s a man with focus, that’s for sure,” Will allowed. Men like that were a crazy kind of dangerous.
“Can you get to the crash site before Lancaster’s team?”
It didn’t sound as though he had much of a choice. “Without set coordinates, I doubt it. But I can definitely keep them from leaving with the key if it’s there.”
“That’s the objective. You’re all that’s standing between a madman and every locked door in the nation. Hell, the world. The intel coming in paints an ugly picture, Will.”
Will thought it couldn’t be much uglier than what he’d been watching unfold a few klicks away. “I can eliminate him and seize the tracker.” It would be the clean, fast resolution. Then Casey could bring in experts to secure the plane and the key.
The silence stretched so long Will thought the call had dropped. “No,” Casey said. “We need him alive. He’s the only person who knows how to deconstruct the Blackout Key. He’s likely the only one who can code a counter response if the key gets out into the world.”
Will didn’t offer his opinion that Lancaster wouldn’t cooperate with authorities. Casey had to know that already and Will got paid for action, not opinions. If they needed Lancaster alive, Will would take him alive. It would be easier if he had a better read on the crew surrounding Lancaster. Would they bail if their boss fell apart, or were they dedicated to the madman’s cause? “Do you have any intel on the mercenaries with him? Are they here for a big payout or something else?”
“No idea. We’re combing his life for clues. What have you observed?”