“It sure beats being dead,” she reminded them both, then went to fetch the blankets so that Thomas could get some sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Tuesday
Tasha stood in the part of Ted’s super-secret sex-pod that Thomas called the utility room, staring at the weapons locker. Similar to the lock on the door to the outside world, this lock had a keypad for an entry code.
Thomas had told her that he’d tried the same four-digit code that had gotten them through the door, but this lock wanted six digits.
Was it possible...?
She keyed in the same code, seven two two eight, and then, because over the past year she’d come to know Ted rather well, and creating a pattern was a very Ted-like thing to do, she entered another two two.
And the door clicked open.
She was on the verge of a wild dance of triumph when she realized the locker was empty. Shit.
But wait, there was a drawer down at the bottom, and she pulled it open. Ammo. Yes! Boxes of 7mm bullets, which matched the caliber of the hunting rifle Thomas had found on the body of the man who’d been killed up at the burned out lodge.
The hunting rifle she and Thomas had had an argument about just this morning, right before he’d left to check for messages at Uncle Alan’s prearranged extraction point.
Thomas (holding out the rifle): I’m leaving this with you.
Tash: What? Why? No.
Thomas: That was neither a question nor an invitation to debate.
Tash: How can you so seriously stand there, pretending to not know me?
Thomas: Natasha.
Tash: Ooh, you three-syllabled me. I’m in trouble now. But forget it, Lieutenant (she three-syllabled him back), because I know that you know that your military-officer-voice doesn’t even remotely scare me.
And thus, a debate had ensued, reviewing both the fact that she would be behind two (2) securely locked doors, and the fact that said rifle in question had only two (2) bullets to use, should the need to fire it arise. If any baddies—Ear Flaps or Onion Breath or Boots or even the traitorous SUV driver—managed to breach the entrance to this sex-pod, a rifle with only two bullets would be pretty damn useless, considering she’d be trapped down here, with surrender as the only feasible option.
Whereas Thomas—who would be flitting invisibly through the forest like a good Navy SEAL—had the skills to use one of their two precious bullets and then immediately vanish without a trace.
He’d left the pod with the rifle in hand.
Since then, Tash had spent about an hour, off and on, attempting to dry her still-damp jeans and Thomas’s pink sweatshirt with the hair dryer she’d found in the bathroom. It was working, but slowly, especially along the seams, waistband, and zipper of the jeans, forget about those ridiculous faux front pockets.
Of course, she had plenty of time. Thomas told her he expected his jaunt to the extraction point and back would take at least two hours.
His thin flannel PJ pants had dried nicely in the night, and there’d been a pair of raincoats—one bright orange, the other a slightly less neon blue—in this very utility room, hanging near a collection of umbrellas and flashlights. It was clearly gear both Teds had acquired in the event that it started to rain while they were... rendezvousing. It would allow the rendezvousers to get back into the ski lodge without getting their clothes completely drenched, which would spark hard questions.
What were you and your... guest... doing out in the rain without a jacket or umbrella, Prince Tedric?
We were just playing a game of rummy in my super-secret sex-pod, no biggie.
Thanks to the Teds’ forethought about rainwear, Thomas had worn the blue raincoat with his red plaid pants, while Tash had immediately pulled his bathrobe on over hers—and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, to boot.
Now she took several heavy boxes of ammo from the drawer, brought them into the living room, and put them on the coffee table. Her stomach growled, but she’d already had a bowl of oatmeal for her “modest” breakfast—and she didn’t want to have anything more until Thomas returned with news of their impending rescue.
Or with their rescuers from SEAL Team Ten in tow. Please God.
She headed back toward the bathroom to do another round with the hairdryer, hoping that the weird feeling she’d picked up from Thomas last night was just more awkwardness instead of some kind of Navy SEAL sixth sense that something out in the world had gone seriously wrong.
Night came and went. Morning was blazing, and Dave’s loser ex still hadn’t checked in.
Rio was starting to hope that the guy wasn’t texting back because he really was dead.
They’d blown past the two-thirds done point—stopping only for gas—with somewhere between ten and twelve hours left to drive.
Dave was behind the wheel while Rio was trying—and failing—to sleep. He was tired but extra-wired, which was a bad combo for him. The good thing was he knew that about himself, so instead of feeling frustrated, he was already resigned to simply resting. He was doing his four-hundred and seventy-eighth round of square breathing, when their electronics started alerting.
But it wasn’t Loser Jon—it was a text from Admiral Francisco. Rio sat up fast.
The vehicle’s text-reader bonged once, which was its way of clearing its computer-throat.
“Infrared SAT images being transmitted in all formats,” it read the admiral’s message in its soothing voice. “Acknowledge receipt.”
Rio checked for attachments, checked their email. “Negative,” he said aloud for Dave to hear, as he sent the message back in an easier-to-transmit text. “Nothing yet.”
The text-reader didn’t convey the admiral’s heavy sigh of frustration, but Rio knew it was there as it recited, “Photos are from last night, around 2100 local time. Human heat signatures suggest between eight to ten unidentifieds near the damaged SUV, another half-dozen in the area surrounding the former ski lodge, with five more at what looks to be a base camp with a cabin, thirty clicks down the main mountain road.”
There was a pause, then, “No obvious sign of T ampersand K.”
T amper...? T and K. “Tasha and King,” Rio translated.
“That’s not good,” Dave voiced what they all were thinking. They’d hoped to see an unmistakable cluster of two isolated human heat sources, hidden well away from any potential groups of hostiles.
“They could be with one of the clusters of unidentifieds,” Rio pointed out.
“That’s not good, either.”
But it was better than the alternative—that Thomas and Tasha had died in that car wreck.
Any intel on who the un-IDs might be? Rio texted back to the admiral, but—“Shit!”—the message didn’t go through.
“We just hit some kind of dead zone,” he told Dave as he checked the rest of their electronics.
“The signal comes and goes,” Dave said. “It’ll be back. Just keep an eye on it.”
Communication technology was one of Dave’s specialties. He was always a reliable and useful team member to have around, but right now Rio was extra-glad he was part of this particular mission.
“When you see it pop,” Dave continued, “even at low strength, even just a hint, give a shout. I’ll pull over and with a little luck we can bring in those images.”
“I’m on it,” Rio said.
“The admiral must be really worried.” Dave cleared his throat. “And I know you are, too.”
“The fact that these unidentifieds were out stomping around the mountainside in the middle of a very cold night, checking out the burned out SUV,” Rio said, “is a good sign. They’re actively looking for something—or more accurately someone.”
“It could also be a bad sign,” Dave pointed out, “since images didn’t reveal two living human bodies, hiding from the others. If the lieutenant and Tasha aren’t with one of the groups of un-IDs, and they’re not by themselves...”
“There are plenty of options besides they’re de
ad.” Rio ticked them off on his fingers. “They found a car and escaped down the mountain and are currently hiding in a Motel 6; they never actually left the airfield and are currently hiding somewhere back in town, probably in a Motel 6; they hiked out of targeted range and are currently heading—”
Dave said it with him, “For a Motel 6. I’m sensing a theme.”
“It’s the only motel in the town near the airfield, so I’m pretty sure Thomas would avoid it, if someone’s really looking for them. But he’s not a big fan of camping,” Rio said. “You know, maybe the infrared images were taken right when he was coming up behind one of the groups of unidentifieds, right before he took them all out, grabbed their vehicle, and headed to safety.”
He heard how crazy that sounded as the words came out of his mouth, but Dave was respectful.
“You seriously think Lieutenant King would’ve just let Tasha help?” he asked. “Just let her charge with him, into danger? Wouldn’t he have—more realistically—tucked her away someplace safe? And if so, why didn’t the infrareds pick that up?”
Good point.
“You know, the fact that all those heat signals were out by the burned out SUV,” Dave continued, still a tad slowly and carefully, “actually means that if there were bodies, either nearby or in the vehicle, they’ll probably be moved before we get there.”
Rio shook his head. He didn’t want to hear that, thanks. “Caves,” he said. “Maybe they found a cave. Mountains have caves.”
Dave sighed. Just a little.
“Or maybe they found a mine,” Rio persisted. “The ski lodge isn’t that far from New Hampshire—the Granite State.”
“Granite is quarried,” Dave said.
“Still,” Rio said. “Big holes in the ground.”
“Big open holes in the ground.”
“Okay, so maybe not so much with a mine or quarry then, but mountains still have caves, or Jesus, rocky cliff-like overhangs. Infrared imaging’s awesome, but it won’t pick up heat signals if Thomas and Tasha are underground.”
“Okay, you’re right. You win.” Dave laughed a little as he glanced at Rio. But his eyes were sad, and Rio heard the words his teammate didn’t say: But really, what are the odds of that?
Thomas used the knock they’d agreed upon before he left—the rhythm of the Lizzo lyrics Just walk your fine ass out the door. Tash had chosen it because she claimed that the men who’d grabbed her would have no clue who Lizzo was. But Thomas suspected she also got some kind of special glee from having him tap that specific line.
He’d expected to have to knock more than once, but he’d barely finished before the lock on the heavy door was released. He pushed while Tash pulled.
“Fun fact,” she said. “The lights down here go out for five seconds when the hatch door is opened. First time it happened, I got a little nervous, but it did it again when you came back, so it’s clearly some kind of royal-sex-pod-user warning system. Like, Quick, put your clothes back on, your highness, someone’s coming!”
Hope was bright in her eyes as she looked out at him, then peered behind him toward the stairs, as if she’d expected him to bring the rescue team down here with him.
“Nothing yet,” he told her, emphasis hard on the yet.
Now her eyes were filled with uh-oh as he came inside and shut and locked the door behind him. “Not even a message?”
“Not yet.”
“That’s strange,” she said. “Isn’t it? I mean, I was picturing some kind of tree like in To Kill a Mockingbird, only instead of a leaving a gift of a SAT phone in its hollow, Uncle Alan would just be sitting there himself, up on one of the branches like the biggest, weirdest bird in the world.”
Thomas laughed at that image as he unfastened the raincoat. He’d been moving pretty fast and despite the cold weather, the waterproof coating had turned the damn thing into a sweat factory. “Yeah, I half expected that, too.” He peeled the jacket off his arms, then realized he was standing there bare-chested, in just those flimsy flannel pants and his doctored boots.
Tash didn’t seem to care. In fact, she handed him a ready bottle of water, as if she knew he’d come back running hot. “Where are they?” she asked. “What’s going on?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Thomas admitted, drinking the water—that was the one thing they wouldn’t have to ration. The shelter’s water filter was high quality, plus they could be extra cautious by boiling whatever they used for drinking and cooking.
“This is so bizarre.” Tash flopped down on the sofa.
In contrast to his shirtlessness, she was wearing both of their bathrobes, with a white blanket on top. The extra-padded effect was very Pillsbury Doughboy. Especially since she was using a small white towel—a hand towel draped over her head—as a make-shift hat. She’d found some kind of clasp—sane people used them to seal bags of chips, so she’d no doubt found this one in a kitchen drawer—and had attached it beneath her chin to keep her towel-hat securely in place.
It was hard not to laugh—or at least smile—when he looked at her, especially since he was quite comfortable, even with his shirt off, in what he considered an acceptably warm temperature. Of course, he had just been out in the twenty-degree morning.
“You’re really that cold?” he asked.
“I lived in San Diego for too long,” she told him defensively. “And I wasn’t young enough to be brainwashed when I first saw Frozen. The cold does bother me anyway, thank you very much, Elsa.”
“You must’ve been miserable in the hide.”
“You don’t have to like it, you just have to do it.” She quoted an old SEAL adage back at him. “Also the shared-body-heat thing really worked.”
“I meant yesterday’s,” Thomas said. “When I was gone for so long.”
“Oh, the English Patient hide,” she said. “Yes. That sucked pretty hard, but at least I knew dying of thirst was off the table, because I’d freeze to death first. Hey, look, go me! I got the weapons locker open and found this.” She gestured grandly toward the coffee table in front of her, where—whoa!—two boxes of 7mm ammo were its new centerpiece.
“That’s great,” he said. “How did you...?”
“Seven two two eight, two two,” she told him. “I know Ted pretty well.”
“Damn.” That was impressive and... oddly disappointing, since it blew up the story he’d been telling himself about Tasha’s relationship with her idiot prince—that it was superficial and based purely on sex.
Which wasn’t that great of a story to start with, and yet...
She was asking him something, and he looked over to find her giving him her impatient face, as she obviously repeated herself. “Tell me, at least, that you left a message.”
“You know I did,” he said. “And I’ll go back there, later. And tomorrow, and...” Et cetera.
“Where are they?” Tasha asked again. “And I know that you don’t know, I get that, but... Do you maybe have a guess?”
He sat on the other side of the sofa’s L, on the edge of the seat, careful to keep his sweaty-ass self from the leather-covered cushions as he gave her his best guess, as dark as it was.
“There’s been no air traffic,” he told her, but then immediately back-pedaled, “at least that I’ve seen or heard, right? Still, we were down here all night, seeing and hearing nothing, so that’s a very large chunk of time in which jets and airliners may have been flying overhead. But again, while I was outside this morning... nothing.”
She was smart. “You think something happened that shut down all flights in this airspace or...”
He could’ve sworn he didn’t flinch or twitch or even move a muscle, but she somehow read his mind.
“All flights in the U.S.?” Her mouth dropped open. “Oh, shit. Like on 9/11. You think there’s been some kind of terror attack?”
“That’s kinda what I got, in Guess-land,” he said. “It certainly explains why Uncle Admiral isn’t here, banging down the door.”
She was horrif
ied. “Oh, my God, you think he’s dead?”
“No!” Thomas said. “No, Tash, nah, that’s absolutely not what I was... No. Nuh-uh. My guess is that he’s busy being a high-ranking officer in the Navy, that’s why he’s not here.”
“Do you think the fire at the ski lodge was part of the attack?”
“That seems... incredibly specific—and tiny, in terms of impact. Who’s here to see this? Where are the news crews and twenty-four-hour screaming? Terrorist attacks are ninety percent theatrics and show. Yeah, the tangos want as high a body count as they can get, but even just a dozen, or a few hundred, even a few thousand like on 9/11... I’m not saying it’s not devastating to the victims and their families, but the most widespread damage came from the millions who let themselves be so terrified, they willingly weakened our democracy.”
“So... no, then?” Tash asked, her face a great big Really? “The lodge just burned—and everyone ran away—just coincidentally on the exact same day that a shut-down-airspace-sized event occurs?”
“Yeah, on the other hand, I’m not a believer in coincidences,” he agreed, “so I’m leaning towards Yes, it’s connected to whatever is happening out there. I don’t know a whole hell of a lot about Ustanzian politics, but since you want me to guess, I’d say someone who wants to overthrow the Queen got a hot tip that the day before yesterday was the day to try to do it. You know, take advantage of the worldwide chaos.”
“But why did they try to blow me up, if they were also burning down the ski lodge?” she wondered.
“Yeah, sorry, I can’t get that shit to make sense,” he said.
“Unless their plan wasn’t to blow me up,” she said. “What if they let me escape in the SUV—and we know they did—so I drive up the road where you’ve been left, allegedly for dead, except you’re not, because they also intentionally didn’t kill you. So I find you, and we drive up to the ski lodge together, and find, oh no! It’s burned down. Eventually, the authorities come and someone discovers the bomb in the car, and it’s analyzed, and like you said, bomb-makers have signatures tying the bomb to a specific group, so now there’s a terrorist group connected to the fire, and maybe to all of the other attacks that are going on out there.”
King's Ransom: (Tall, Dark and Dangerous Book 13) Page 12