Rogue Soldier. Dana Marton
Читать онлайн книгу.
An ambush could be waiting for them out there. She moved with care, expecting at any moment a hail of bullets. Mike was as vigilant as she, communicating with hand signals. They passed the last couple of yards in a crouch, creeping from tree to tree.
They shouldn’t have bothered. The chopper had left no men behind. There was nothing in front of them at all—the crate, sled and dogs gone. A single flare stood stuck in the snow, bleeding red smoke toward the sky.
“They’ll be coming back for us.” Mike kicked it over and buried it. “We’re not going to make it to the village over open land.”
“They took my dogs,” she said, stunned, fury filling her.
“They’re not going to hurt the dogs. They only took them to make things harder for us.” He put a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off. He shrugged. “What do you know about this area?”
The bastards took her dogs. A couple of seconds passed before she could focus on Mike’s question.
“There are a few families who live this far up. Trappers. Most of them go into the towns for winter. A couple of them stopped by the research station over the summer. These people cover ground like you wouldn’t believe.”
“We’ll go over the hills then. We’ll either run into someone or reach a town sooner or later.”
“Let’s go.” Determination filled her, anger giving her strength.
They were in the Alaskan wilderness without shelter and supplies, winter quickly approaching; the CIA was on a search-and-destroy mission to round them up; and for all they knew, the gun dealers were still after them, too, wanting back the warhead.
Nobody could ever say life was boring with Mike McNair around.
WHEN HE CLOSED HIS EYES, he could see the gently swaying palm trees on the hillside in Belize, where he had put money down on a house. South America seemed like an excellent place to disappear to—great climate, plenty of English-speaking people, and yet far enough from anyone who might figure out his role in the weapons heist.
“The Boss,” his codename for the mission, leaned back in his chair. The warheads had reached port. It wouldn’t be long now before they crossed the Bering Strait and arrived at the next station before their final destination. Once the crates were in Siberia, he would breathe easier.
There had been some minor glitches along the way, but nothing they couldn’t overcome. It would be no more than two or three days until delivery, and when Tsernyakov got his warheads, he would release payment.
Belize: sunshine and long-limbed women with soft, tanned skin, and the money to afford them. And why not? Hadn’t he sacrificed enough to deserve that?
He would have to fake his death, though, before he left. It wouldn’t do for the law, or his “business” partners, to come looking for him. A fire perhaps—a body wouldn’t be too hard to arrange. Or he could go out on a boat and pretend to be washed overboard. He put his feet up on the edge of the hotel room table and went over the list of possibilities.
The wife would get his life insurance and was welcome to it. She could go nag someone else for all he cared. The kids, both from her first marriage, had barely tolerated him anyway. He was nothing but the man who held the wallet, someone to go to for new shoes and tuition for soccer camp.
He closed his eyes and pictured an azure-blue sky above, could almost feel the soft, warm breeze on his face. The house had a veranda overlooking the pool. There were people around the pool in his fantasy—he would have plenty of friends. A tall girl of about twenty came up the veranda stairs with a martini.
“You need company?” she asked, her full lips turning into a suggestive smile. Her long hair spilled down her naked back, a few strands escaping to the front to curl around magnificent breasts that were left exposed for his hungry gaze.
He nodded as he took the glass, watched her push his legs apart and get ready to satisfy him. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back.
Chapter Three
Crunch, swish, crunch, swish. He would have given just about anything for a pair of snowshoes. Mike ignored the cold slush that had gotten into his boots. His gaze strayed to the low ridge ahead of them. They had been walking toward it for hours, yet it still seemed the same distance away, their progress hampered by the difficult terrain. He glanced back at Tessa who kept up without complaint. She walked with her head down, focusing on where she put her feet.
They pushed on, searching for shelter, a suitable spot to sit out the night.
“Here,” he said finally, just as the last of the grayish light slid off the sky.
They were in front of a “wall” created by the root mass of a fallen tree. He cleared as much snow as he could out of the hollow the roots had left behind in the ground, and lined it with hemlock branches, the result looking like a giant dinosaur nest.
“Welcome to the Fresh Air Hotel.” He grinned at Tessa, wanting to lighten the mood.
“What, you didn’t reserve a room with a hot tub?” She was already picking up wood for their fire.
He went to help her. “The place is booked solid. We were lucky to get any room at all.”
“Hmm.” She gave him a fake grumble. “Remind me not to let you plan any more vacations for us in the future.”
As hard as they tried, their jokingly spoken words didn’t quite cover their unease. He was alert to the slightest noise around them, and from the way she stopped every few seconds to survey their surroundings, he knew Tessa was, as well. There were wolves out there. And possibly bears, too; winter had barely started. Nature had its own stragglers.
He dumped an armload of branches and went back for more.
Once they had enough wood, it didn’t take much to get a good fire started. Although the kindling hadn’t been as dry as he would have preferred, the alcohol acted as a decent accelerant. Their spot was sheltered from the wind, and they sat between the tree and the fire, the root wall behind them reflecting the heat back, so they were warm on both sides— as comfortable an arrangement as anyone could hope for under the circumstances.
He dumped the contents of his tin emergency kit at his feet, careful not to lose anything, then filled the tin with snow and melted it over the fire, giving Tessa the water. He melted another batch and drank next. They had to take turns, each getting a few swallows at a time.
After they rested a little, they collected more wood, enough to keep the fire going for the night.
“Wish we had that fur cover,” she said, dislodging the snow that had caked on to the bottom of her boots.
He wished for a number of things, none of which he cared to share, pretty sure she wouldn’t appreciate them. Instead he moved over to a tall pine and dug in the snow under it until he found a good handful of cones. Tessa helped him defrost them over the fire. They ate pine nuts, not enough to fill them, but sufficient so they wouldn’t have to go to sleep with that gnawing feeling of hunger inside.
He sat cross-legged and patted his thigh. “Come over here. You can use me for a pillow. I’ll take first watch.”
They couldn’t both sleep. Somebody had to stay awake to feed the fire. Without it, they’d be frozen by morning. And they needed it for reasons beyond heat, too. The flames would keep away predators.
She hesitated, but seemed to reach a decision at last and curled up next to him with her head on his thigh, facing the burning logs. “Wake me in a couple of hours.”
He looked away from the silky red hair that spilled out of her hood and over him, feeling his pants shrink a size smaller. Offering himself for her pillow seemed a less-than-brilliant idea now. He had thought only of her comfort, that he wanted her near. He hadn’t thought it through to what the sight of her head in his lap would do to him. At least he didn’t have to worry about falling asleep on his watch. He was way too uncomfortable