by A. G. Henley
“Move, or I will shoot you both.”
Two other armed men entered the tent, standing guard. Where the hell were the Swiss security people with their weapons? I only had my baton under my coat. The first man shoved the muzzle of his weapon into Veena’s face and looked pointedly at me. His expression was calm. Bad news.
“Move,” he said again.
I moved.
“Stay calm,” I told Veena, although adrenaline poured through me. She whimpered, and her eyes were frantic.
“Put your back against the tent, hands in front,” the man said to me. I stayed where I was; I didn’t want to move that far from Veena, but when he pointed his gun carefully at my chest, I had no choice. Grappling for his weapon was a bad idea with Veena so close.
He aimed at me while one of the other men hauled her up. The third dragged Connor to his feet. He howled in pain when he had to put weight on his injured leg. Veena’s teary, wide eyes met mine. Then the men swept Connor and her out of the tent.
One, two, three seconds passed as I jabbed my watch and flew to the tent flap. Brown picked up right away.
“They got Veena,” I choked out. “And they shot Connor in the leg and took him, too.” Why the hell did they take an injured bystander?
Brown cursed. “I’ll get Ice and Owl up there. Stay there, Green. We need you to tell Swiss security what happened.” We disconnected.
I freed my baton and peeked outside. The sun was sinking over the western peaks. The top of the pipe was relatively empty now, thankfully, but a few small groups of spectators and trainers huddled together, clearly frightened. Two men, the missing Swiss security guards, lay on the ground, blood staining the snow around them. I called Brown again, telling him to send paramedics.
I scooped up the guards’ rifles, slung them across my back with their straps, and turned to the nearest person. “Which direction did they go?”
The woman, fear paling her already fair skin, pointed uphill, past the café, in the direction of the glacier that rose over the resort. Thank God everyone here spoke English. “They took snowmobiles.”
Engines growled up the hill from below—probably Cooley, Kovitch, and more useless Swiss security. The announcer chattered on, either unaware of what happened or maybe not wanting to start a panic. I could see a few people peering uphill through the snow, probably looking for Veena. She was supposed to be laying down an Olympic gold run right now.
My head swiveled, searching. There. A snowmobile was parked behind the athletes’ tent. I ran to it, strapped on the helmet, goggles attached, that had been left on the back, and turned the keys in the ignition. I had to search for the headlight switch, but I found it and threw it on.
If I survived this, I’d be fired for disobeying direct orders. I’d probably never work in the security field again. But there was no way I would sit around telling the story a thousand times while the kidnappers got away with Veena and Connor.
I squeezed the throttle hard and plowed uphill.
The plastic windshield, and the helmet and goggles, protected me from the direct blast of blowing snow, but my cheeks and lips instantly iced over. Luckily I had gloves, or my fingers would have frozen along with my face. I located three sets of tracks in front of me.
The resort had strict boundaries for skiers and riders. From the general direction of the narrow lines, they were headed out of bounds.
The sun was dropping fast. Riding in the dark would be dangerous, but the falling snow covered the tracks so quickly, I couldn’t slow. I followed the parallel lines as best I could.
As darkness spread, I couldn’t see much outside the circular glow of the headlights. The snow swirled, disorienting me, but I went on. When I saw the rope boundary of the resort was cut to create a gap, I followed.
My watch vibrated against my wrist, but with the wind shrieking past my ears, I wouldn’t hear Brown if I tried to answer. Anyway, what could they do? Helicopters couldn’t fly in this storm and getting emergency vehicles up here would be next to impossible. Once again, the kidnappers had planned well, and we were a step behind.
I plowed through the storm for what seemed like an hour. I had no way to tell if I closed on them. I only had the fading tracks to follow. The point might come where they disappeared altogether, and I’d be stranded somewhere out of bounds, in a snowstorm, at night. I tried not to think about that.
The tracks plunged down a steep slope. Double black diamond took on a new meaning when the snowmobile gained speed on the decline and the back began to slip sideways. I let off the throttle. I couldn’t allow the machine to turn or it might tip over, crushing me, or it could trigger an avalanche. I was glad I slowed when a dark grove of snow-covered trees popped up ahead, leaving me little time to maneuver.
I drove slower into the forest, hoping what I was following was still tracks. It was getting hard to tell. Every part of my body was either freezing or already numb, but I had to keep moving or die.
A small orange light appeared on the dash—the fuel gauge.
I cursed a produce section worth of vegetables. The snowmobile fought hard, but after another ten minutes, it began to cough, then jerk, and finally slid to a stop.
The forest was pitch black and quiet. In Vail, snow dampened sounds. Even traffic from the nearby interstate was muffled. On the backside of a mountain in the Swiss Alps, it was something else entirely. Complete silence.
I checked my watch and my phone. No cell service. Brown couldn’t reach me.
All I had was the time on my watch, my flashlight baton, and the two rifles I took off the Swiss guards.
Using the flashlight, I scoured the snowmobile for anything else I could use. The luggage area at the back was empty, and the seat storage compartment was locked. I broke the lock with the butt on the baton and found a gas container—with no gas.
Leaving the helmet on for warmth, I trudged along, using the flashlight to follow the light tracks of the snowmobiles.
Walking in fresh backcountry powder was exhausting. I’d find a section of snow I thought could hold my weight, and a second later my foot would plunge through the thin crust up to my hip. My jeans were soaked, and snow melted into my socks and boots. I already couldn’t feel my hands or feet. I knew enough to know that if I didn’t find shelter soon, I would suffer hypothermia, frostbite, and other things I really didn’t want to know the names of.
I strained to hear sounds of the escaping snowmobiles. Or of anything. I flicked the flashlight off and peered through the dark, watching for headlights. Nothing. I closed my eyes and focused on slowing my breathing. I couldn’t afford to panic. I kept moving.
Until I lost the tracks.
When I couldn’t see any further sign of them, I leaned against the nearest tree trunk. My mouth was as dry as the Mojave Desert, and my legs were stiff. I could suck on snow for water, but the idea made me shudder harder than I already was. Frost crusted in my eyelashes, and I couldn’t wrinkle my nose or lick my lips. Fear slithered through me, squeezing my chest and threatening to smother me.
My thoughts grew fuzzy and sluggish as my body and brain fought the inevitable.
I thought about what I’d wished I’d said to Mom, all the shit I should’ve forgiven. I hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye, to tell her I loved her. I doubt she’d recover from losing me so soon after Gram. My throat swelled.
I flicked off the flashlight for good. The forest was claustrophobic as darkness pressed in and snow drifted around me.
Minutes passed.
Fear slowly turned to paralysis. Dying might be better than the deep, aching pain encasing my body. But as I tried to accept what was coming, something tugged at the back of my mind. Something I needed to notice.
I squinted and blinked.
A light flickered between the trees like a mirage. Struggling to breathe the freezing air and move my stiff body, I lurched toward it. My progress was slow. But that light equaled hope, and hope kept me moving.
As the light grew brighter, I saw others. Through
the trees, a stone mansion—almost like a castle—took shape. Although, I might have imagined the turrets. I made my way toward it. I couldn’t feel much; even my ears had stopped throbbing and gone numb, which seemed like a bad sign.
A dog barked in the darkness, sharp and menacing. Another joined it. I didn’t try to run. Couldn’t. I hunched, shuddering with cold, and waited. A human voice called to them as they closed in on me. I still had the rifles strapped to me, but I was in no condition for a shootout. I threw them toward the trunk of a nearby tree.
Two German shepherds appeared out of the dark like four-legged demons. Ears erect, they circled me, growling and barking. I shied away from their snapping teeth. A man came forward, heavily dressed against the cold and holding what looked like a Kalashnikov in gloved hands. When he spoke, I heard the same language from the laundry truck and the tent.
At this point, I didn’t care if a small country of kidnappers was in that house; I wanted in where it was warm.
A second man, similarly dressed and armed, pulled my hands behind me and whisked me through the front doors. I almost collapsed with relief. After patting me down, the guard holding me took my baton, cellphone and watch and disappeared into a door off the entrance hall.
Staircases to the dim second floor curved to each side, with a gloomy hallway disappearing into darkness between them. Ornate wood doors were closed on either side of the entry. It was grand, but the place had seen better days. Faded, ripped tapestries mingled with framed art that someone had spray painted graffiti on. What rugs remained on the stone floors were thin and dirty. The mansion smelled musty and felt damp but was blissfully warm. Warmer than outside, at least.
I leaned against a wall, waiting while the guard who took my stuff disappeared into a room off the entrance hall. The other didn’t take off his mask or hat, and he didn’t speak. He just stood there, dripping on the floor, holding the growling dogs.
Wiggling my toes inside my boots felt like breaking up icicles. My nose stung and ears burned. Carefully, with my hands up where he could see them, I tugged off a glove. The tips of my fingers were white and numb. When the feeling came back, I’d be squirming. If the feeling never came back, I had bigger problems.
The mansion, I think they were called chateaus here, was eerily silent, but someone could scream all they wanted behind those hefty doors, and no one would hear them.
The other guard returned and gestured at me to walk toward the dark hallway with his rifle. When I didn’t move fast enough, he jabbed me with the muzzle.
I stumbled but tried to move my frozen feet quicker. As he escorted me between the staircases and into the hallway, snow and ice chunks dropped off my clothes to the floor with wet plops. A few paces down the hall, he opened a door to the right and pushed me in, then closed it behind me.
The room was cavernous. Bookless cases with a few broken shelves ran from floor to ceiling, another mangy rug covered the center of the floor, and piles of trash and discarded clothes were strewn in corners. There’d been a fire in the room at some point; one corner was singed black. Whatever furniture had been in here was long gone.
But my gaze swooped past all that and fell gratefully on the very real fire hissing and popping in the stone fireplace in one wall—and Veena sitting cross-legged by it.
“Nic!” She jumped to her feet and ran to me. I hugged her hard. When she pulled back, tears fell freely from her eyes. “Connor’s leg is bad, Nic. He needs help, and these guys won’t talk to us.”
Connor lay covered with a ratty but thick curtain, his head cushioned by Veena’s folded ski coat. His eyes were closed. I hurried over to him, pulling off my soaked coat and hat and heeling off my boots. I’d never get warm with them on. My stinging fingers were a startling white at the tips, and they ached.
The firelight threw weird shadows on Connor’s face. I learned CPR and some basic first aid at Juno, but I didn’t have the stocked kit we’d practiced with.
Make do, I heard my instructor, a former Special Forces medic, say.
I felt Connor’s forehead, but to my frozen hands it felt fiery. His breathing seemed regular, at least.
“Does he feel hot to you?” I asked Veena.
She touched him. “Warm.”
I peeled the curtain off his leg to take a look. Someone had tied a cloth over the wound. Everything was stained dark with his blood.
“Did you do this?” I asked Veena, lifting the tails of the cloth.
Her hands fluttered over him. “I tore down the curtain to cover him and make the bandage. Was that wrong? Did I make it worse?”
“No, you stopped the bleeding.”
I loosened the cloth and slid his snow pant leg up to see the wound, but I couldn’t move it far enough to see much. He shifted and winced, but his eyes stayed closed. I unsnapped and unzipped his snow pants and eased them down his slim hips. He wore a pair of black long underwear torn by a neat bullet hole surrounded by blood. Okay. This wasn’t how I imagined undressing him, but . . . I sidled the long underwear down to his knees, revealing a snug pair of boxer style underwear.
As the cool air hit his bare skin, his eyes winked open. He tried to speak, then cleared his throat weakly. I moved closer to hear.
“Are you taking advantage of me?” he whispered.
Veena squeaked happily; I sagged with relief. “I thought you were bleeding out!”
“A few times on that snowmobile, I thought I was too.” He licked his pale lips. “Any water around to drink?”
Veena shook her head; I grabbed my soaked glove.
“This might not taste good, but it will wet your mouth a little.” I put it to his lips, and he sucked on it.
He made a face, but his voice was a little clearer when he spoke. “Thanks.”
“How bad is it?” I asked. “Can you tell?”
“I think the bullet went through, but it bled a lot. My sock is sticky and wet.”
At least he had feeling in his foot. Gently, I probed the area around the wound, making the bleeding start up again in a trickle. It seemed to have penetrated his quadricep but didn’t hit the femur or knee. He got lucky.
“I think you’re right about the bullet. Veena, can you make me a couple more bandages?”
She set to ripping the hem of Connor’s improvised blanket, nervous energy making her movements jerky. She handed me a section. I tied it firmly above the wound and got the snow pants on again. Without water or antiseptic that was the best I could do.
My teeth clenched with anger as I worked. Why did they shoot him at all? Why only him? And why did they bring him here? But I kept my questions to myself as I pulled his long underwear back up. They were better protection against infection than a filthy curtain.
He smiled at me through the pain, a hint of a gleam in his eye as I zipped his snow pants up.
“Can you sit?” I said. “If we can get you moving, maybe we can get out of here.”
“How?” Veena asked. “I already checked the windows and doors. All locked.”
“Windows can be broken.”
She looked doubtful. “That glass looks thick.”
When I stood to check the windows out, throbbing pain roared through my feet. I stumbled and almost fell.
“Nic?” They said my name at the same time. “What’s wrong?” Veena reached for me.
“I need a minute.” I tottered to the fire and peeled off my socks. I laid them out by the fire to dry, keeping my snow pants on for warmth.
My teeth grit as sensation seeped into my thawing fingers and toes. Forget pins and needles; try a sledgehammer and full-sized nails. Connor and Veena watched me with worried expressions.
“I’m okay,” I said. “Veena, you don’t still have your tracker, do you?”
She shook her head. “They stopped the snowmobiles a few minutes after they took us, searched me, crushed the tracker, and threw my phone in the snow. Same with Connor’s phone. Wait, how did you find us?”
“I grabbed a snowmobile and followed t
he tracks. Dad will be furious if he ever finds us. He told me to stay there.”
“Dad?” Connor frowned.
I waved a hand. “Never mind.”
The stinging, burning, and throbbing were a little more bearable now, but my body felt like I’d spent hours in the gym after so long fighting the cold. Once I had a little more feeling back in my hands and feet, I examined the windows. Veena was right; it was old glass. Super thick. And the room was empty of potential glass breakers. I moved around the bookcases to see if I could wiggle a wooden shelf loose.
While I poked around, Connor put his hands behind him, and Veena supported him as he pushed himself up to sitting. His face tightened and paled, but he didn’t make a sound.
“Nic, those men they shot, the Swiss guards, were they . . .?” Veena looked like she might cry again.
“I don’t know; I called for paramedics. Do you have any clue who the kidnappers are?”
Veena sniffed and rubbed her nose. “No one really talked to us. When we got here, they pulled us off the snowmobiles and threw us in here. At least they had already made a fire so we wouldn’t freeze to death.”
I glanced at Connor. “I can’t figure out why they shot and took you. Why not me? They must have known what I was from Copper.”
He shifted his weight and winced. “They knew you were her bodyguard, so you could cause trouble if they brought you with them. Maybe I was a safer choice. A nobody trainer they could use as a bargaining chip. But Nic, there’s something else. Something you should know.” A familiar look stole over his face—guilt. “I’m—”
Footsteps echoed outside the door. Connor laid back in a hurry and closed his eyes.
Twenty-Two
Still barefoot, I moved between Veena and the man who came through. He had a medium build, maybe mid-40s, with deep brown hair that might be curly if it wasn’t cut short. His nose was prominent but not sharp or beaky, and his eyes were almost black. His olive skin was smooth and made him look younger than I thought he was, given the brushes of silver hairs at his temples. I tried to figure out where he was from, but it was hard to tell. He could be European, Middle Eastern, maybe Latino.