Snow Blind

by Jim Heskett

  But none of that would matter if Layne couldn’t get out of these restraints and take these bastards out. They had him at a serious disadvantage. Layne needed help, luck, and perfect timing.

  Still, though, a question burned at him.

  “I’ll ask you again,” Layne said. “Why didn't your men kill me at the retreat center? What is it you want with me now?”

  "I know about you, Layne," Z said, wagging a finger. "I know all about you and a whole heap of your escapades. I know about what happened in London six years ago. Those weren't my people at the dance club, but believe me, I heard about what you did to them traffickers in London. Friends of friends, if you know what I’m saying.”

  “You think you know what happened, but you don’t have the whole story.”

  “Maybe I don’t.” Z leaned in. “But now that I’ve got you in my net, we’re going to have plenty of time for you to fill me in on all the little details.”

  Layne, keeping his hands down low between his knees, tested the tightness of the cuffs on his wrists. Seemed solid. He maintained eye contact with Z so his adversary wouldn't notice. “Seems like you went through a lot of trouble to keep me alive.”

  Now, Z chuckled. “Yes, indeed. But, the truth is, I’ve been dying to meet you, Mr. Parrish."

  48

  Serena kneeled at the rear of the speedboat, digging through her backpack. She tried to load magazines into her Ruger pistols without allowing the boat driver a good look. He did try to spy her out of the corner of his eye a few times, but she kept the backpack low. She wasn’t paying this guy to take part in her espionage, only to transport her to Keats Island as fast as possible.

  She’d made record time. By car down BC-99, and then a scramble to the nearest pier to catch a ride. She had thrown cash at the first guy with a fast boat who didn’t ask too many questions.

  But after all that hustle, now things had slowed down. Serena had earned time to think, which she wasn’t convinced was a good thing.

  Passing the northern end of Bowen Island, the driver said, “coming up to Keats in a few minutes, Miss. We’ve got options as far as entry points. Anywhere in particular you want to be dropped off?”

  She wondered if Layne was still at the southern edge, as his GPS dot had indicated before she’d fled from Harry and Daphne and the room full of borrowed mission support personnel back in Squamish. She had to assume he was still in the same place.

  Crossing the island wouldn’t take too long. She tilted her head back and forth, considering how close she wanted to push it.

  “East side. Somewhere secluded or wherever the trees are thickest if you can manage it. It’s fine if there’s no dock. I can swim in if I need to.”

  “Sure, if you want to get yourself some hypothermia,” he said as they hit a bit of chop and the boat lurched into the air. “I can get you close enough. No problem.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You know someone on the island?” When she didn’t respond, the driver turned his head a few inches toward her and said, “good thing the weather cleared up, eh?”

  “Lot of rain and snow out here.”

  He nodded. “That’s what makes it so green everywhere in the Spring. You have to pay for it somehow.”

  “That’s true for a lot of things.”

  The driver gave a hearty chuckle. “I do know that to be true, Miss. I certainly do know that to be true.”

  As the water raced by and the wind whipped her face, Serena sighed. Maybe rushing in like this had been a bad idea. Daphne would be furious, for sure. This wasn’t the first time Serena had defied orders and taken the operation into her own hands.

  The extent of Daphne’s fury remained to be seen.

  Speaking of the devil, Serena’s phone rang, with a familiar scrambled number on the caller ID. A tightness gripped her chest. She held it up to her ear and plugged her other ear with her opposite thumb to drown out the sound of the boat.

  “Of all the dumb things you’ve done so far…” Daphne said.

  “What’s the ETA on my backup?” Serena said, turning toward the aft of the boat so the driver wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop.

  “There is no backup.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t have a strike team available. I’ve been on the phone with people in Seattle, but no one can mobilize right now. The fact that it’s in Canadian waters presents some challenges. There’s a lot more bureaucracy here than I would like.”

  Serena tapped her teeth together and took a few deep breaths. Not good. “That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for.”

  “I’m working on it, but you'll have to prepare as if you’ll be going in alone.”

  “How did this happen?”

  “We assumed the operation would be stateside,” Daphne said. “Maybe if you hadn’t run out the door without telling anyone where you were going, we could have planned better. This is highly unprofessional, Serena Rojas.”

  Like an involuntary slideshow, the name Red appeared before her eyes. Serena’s chosen operational handle for herself. It had made sense at the time, but Red still wasn’t right. Too blunt. Her last name translated as Red in English, so maybe it would be too obvious. Red. Passion. Anger. Action. Impulsiveness. Feistiness.

  When they’d been standing by the water in Seattle, Daphne had offered Pepper as a theoretical handle. It seemed to sum up all of the alternate words Serena could think of for red. And damn it, Serena had to admit it was perfect, as much as she didn’t like it.

  She bit her lip instead of responding. She wanted to lash out, but Control was right. Walking out had been an impulsive thing to do, and now she had to accept whatever options she had on the table.

  “I’m sorry, Control. I made a split-second decision. In hindsight, maybe it was rash.”

  “Yeah, I know. We’ll deal with that later. In the meantime, you do recon and report back. Do not engage.”

  The phone call ended, and Serena pulled the phone from her ear. Recon only. Do not engage.

  Serena tore across the island, headed for the southern edge. She sprinted when she could. Much of the time, though, she was forced to move slow, consider her directional choices, and fight tangles of underbrush and trees.

  She could see a small inlet on her GPS map, and she decided that spot would be where they were keeping Layne. All the eastern coastline was too exposed; you could see the larger Bowen Island from anywhere on Keats. Same from the west side because of nearby Granthams Landing. They needed an open but secluded space and absolute privacy for what they were doing here.

  She saw a few houses as she trudged, but no people out and about. Few visible roads, no cars, nothing but the sounds of birds and the rustle of wind through the endless trees. Too early for the Spring Breakers and too late for the leaves-changing crowd, this island was more like a barren, tree-infested piece of rock than a tourist destination.

  Then, a half hour after she’d started, she encountered the first hint of trouble. The sound of a truck appeared nearby, grinding along, knocking down smaller-sized trees. Pistols clutched, Serena crouched in the shade of a humongous pile of brush and waited. This gave her the first opportunity to catch her breath, and she realized her heart was thumping so hard, she could feel it in her ears.

  “Easy, Rojas,” she whispered. Then, with a grin, she added, “Pepper.” She didn’t hate it anymore.

  The truck came rolling by, two men inside the front cab. A set of AK-47 rifles sitting between them. The cab crew bounced back and forth as the truck made its own road, eyes forward, grim looks on their faces. Soldiers.

  This was definitely the right area.

  She hunkered down and waited until after they’d left to consider her next move. Any more chance encounters with trucks or random soldiers out on patrol could put an end to this stealth mission in a hurry.

  Ultimately, she decided there was no way to predict random encounters, so she pushed ahead on her current path until she drew closer to the shore. She could feel the tem
perature dip as she progressed past the inland area and neared the water on the southern edge.

  As soon as she came to the next clearing, she found a small tent village. Eight tents, to be exact. From a spot behind a tree, Serena studied the area for a couple minutes. As far as she could see, there were only two people here, unless there were others sheltered in the tents. Possibly napping.

  The one she could see was armed with an Ed Brown Special Forces Carry 45 ACP, which was not an amateur’s weapon. These tents belonged to the traffickers. Of that, she had no doubt.

  Aiming for stealth, she stowed her pistols and drew a pair of Microtech Halo knives, her favorite tool for the quiet and intimate touch. This close to the water, any gunshots could bring her operation to a screeching halt.

  If Layne was still alive, a full assault would be his death sentence.

  If he was still alive.

  One of the two visible men in the tent area was sitting on the east side, at the edge of an open flap, browsing a tablet computer. The other was closer to the south side, sitting on a tree stump, whittling. They did not have a direct line of sight to each other, at least, at the moment. Serena would need to act quickly while that was still the case.

  The eastern target was closer, so she decided to move on him first. Keeping low, she eased out of her hiding spot among the cluster of tents. She hugged the outside edge, knives raised. Any of these tents she passed could turn into a sudden fight if the flaps opened. Ears alert, she listened for any sounds of motion coming from within.

  In ten seconds, she reached the back of the target tent. The tablet guy was on the other side of it. She dropped to the ground and peaked underneath. He was still occupied with his screen, still facing away.

  Serena lifted the tent edge and slinked inside it. She held one knife horizontally at neck-level, the other down low, point straight on. Creeping, she made her way across the interior open space. At the edge of the tent, she paused and looked toward the other target. Still unaware.

  Twelve inches away, she saw her reflection in the guy’s tablet. He spun, and she jabbed the lower knife directly into his chest. She slashed across his neck with the other one, trying to keep him silent.

  He gurgled but didn’t scream. Bug-eyed, confused, he tried to swat at the foreign implement in his body.

  Serena snatched his shirt and pulled him toward her, using the chest knife as a hook to draw him back into the tent.

  She yanked the blade out and let him fall into the dirt, then cleaned her knives by wiping them on his clothes. A few streaks of blood marked the dirt outside the tent, which would make hiding this kill much harder. But, it didn’t matter. She would have to move fast, anyway.

  The time for perfect stealth was over.

  Serena closed the tent flap behind her and ventured out to neutralize the next target. He was even easier. She crept up behind him and slit his throat with one quick motion. He was so intent on whittling a stick, he had no idea she was right on top of him. Flakes of shaved wood tumbled from his lap as he fell forward and crashed into the dirt.

  Then, she pushed on toward the coast. And that’s when she heard the first gunshot.

  49

  Daphne paced around the room at the Lodge as Harry piloted the drone across Howe Sound. The choppiness of the water was wreaking havoc on the navigational systems. And, unfortunately, they could only send a small surveillance drone, not an armed multirotor fast enough to blaze over the water with no resistance.

  Daphne stared at the printed photo of Zinan Watanabe, thumb-tacked to the wall above the room’s television. She studied his face. And for some reason, she kept thinking of Singapore. After a few glances, she realized Z reminded her of a waiter she and Layne had encountered at a restaurant in Clarke Quay. A rotund and jolly man who kept pushing dessert on them, even after they clearly told him they weren’t interested.

  Daphne had mentioned Singapore to Layne on the phone, five days ago. To remind him about the girl who kept calling him Uncle. Dredging up the past like that had been a stupid move. Very un-Daphne of her to reminisce and become lost in nostalgia. And worse, it had made Layne close up.

  Singapore hadn’t ended well. The mission had turned out fine, of course, but things weren’t right with Layne ever again. Not long after, he met Inessa, got married, had a kid, got divorced. Daphne and Layne had spent a couple of sweaty nights together since his divorce, but it wasn’t the same. Before, there had always been the possibility of a future. Now, Layne felt so cold.

  Not that Daphne had ever wanted to pursue a serious relationship with Layne, but it was nice to leave the door open. She didn’t like closed doors.

  All in all, none of that mattered. She needed to get her head out of Singapore and back into something useful. The operation. Without warning, the situation had spiraled downward, fast. Layne and Serena had both seen fit to take matters into their own hands and charge off after the enemy. About Serena, Daphne would expect nothing less. As much as Serena professed to be a “by the numbers” sort of shadow agent, she did seem to disregard her mission protocols whenever it suited her.

  But Layne? This behavior had stunned Daphne. For him to act in such a rash manner felt out of character. There was more going on underneath the surface than he wanted to admit, for sure. This operation had become too personal for him. He'd been blinded by it.

  “I need a visual, Harry,” Daphne said.

  “Understood, Control. I’m doing everything I can.” Then, his eyes flicked over to a second screen. “Oh, shit.”

  “What?”

  “Ethan,” Harry said, “Can you take over piloting this drone?”

  The NSA analyst Ethan waddled over and slid into Harry’s seat as Harry shifted to the next chair and tabbed through satellite images on the laptop.

  “Control, you need to see this. I’ve got some news that’s going from bad to terrible.”

  Harry carried the laptop over to Daphne. He presented it to her, a panicked wince on his face.

  She blinked a few times to adjust her eyes to the brightness of the screen, then cleared her throat. It appeared to be a map, but overlaid with a strange set of white blobs and unfamiliar scan lines.

  He zoomed in on an image, then pointed at some white objects. Fear on his face as he studied her while she studied the map.

  “What am I looking at?” she asked.

  “Infrared of Keats Island, at the southern edge. Better quality than what I showed you before, so I can actually see what’s going on. This is where Layne is now, in a shipping container while some other captives are being unloaded.”

  “He’s with some others? Children?”

  “Probably, but I can’t tell for sure. But, it’s good to know he’s still there since his phone died twenty minutes ago.”

  “Okay, this all makes more sense now. What are those white things?”

  Harry zoomed in closer. “Those spots I saw before that I thought might be people? They’re not. It’s inorganic material. Specifically, explosives.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. That whole pier area is loaded with kaboom stuff. If that many detonate at once, it’ll take half the island with it.”

  50

  Thirty minutes had passed, and Layne was still in the shipping container. Hands cuffed, sitting on the chair. Z had left to attend to other tasks a while before. Layne saw him checking various containers, strolling around as he took phone calls, directing his minions to clear space on the beach. Trucks maneuvered on the grass beyond.

  In the meantime, Layne sat while two armed guards monitored him.

  From his position at the mouth of the shipping container, he couldn't see much. He couldn't get a clean vantage to make a mental blueprint of the area. Lingering snow blindness still prevented him from seeing more than a few dozen feet ahead. Vague shapes and motion defined by shadow. He couldn’t see where they’d taken the six teen captives.

  Layne didn't think the guards would like him standing up and wandering around to get
a better look, though.

  His best hope was that Daphne and Harry would find him. Yes, it had been an impulsive move to sneak over to the snowcat to hitch a ride down the mountain. But he knew Harry had cloned his phone a couple days ago. Harry didn't know that Layne knew, but that detail didn't matter. Layne would've given him permission to do it anyway, so he saw no point in bringing it up.

  Funny, if the request had come from Daphne, no way in hell would he have allowed her to track him. But it didn’t bother Layne at all, Harry putting a trace on his phone.

  “Do you like this work you do?” Layne asked one of the guards. The guy flinched a fraction of an inch but didn’t respond. He kept his eyes forward and his mouth closed. Layne paused, hoping the man might reconsider. But, he seemed confident in his silence, and Layne eventually abandoned hope of starting a conversation.

  “What about you?” Layne asked the other one. “Do you have any kids?”

  This other guard made eye contact with Layne. He took one hand off his rifle and removed a cylindrical wand from his back pocket. He flicked it, extending a baton out from the cylinder. “Say one more word, and I’ll break your kneecap. Z wants you alive, but he didn’t say I couldn’t hobble you. This is a big day for us, and all you are to me is a complication.”

  Layne pursed his lips, considering. He believed the guy would do as he’d said, and Layne figured he’d probably need his kneecaps before the day was through. So, he gave up trying to talk to his guards.

  Twenty or thirty minutes later, Z came back. With a big grin on his face, he put his hands on his hips and motioned for Layne to come with him. “Time to take a walk.”