Outside, what had turned into a frigid, driving rain gave Peyton a little comfort that maybe they were safe.
For now.
“Sorry again about all that earlier, sir,” Jake said. He’d already taken a knee and bared his throat to Peyton, so that was handled. Peyton had used the opportunity to ensure the man wasn’t lying to him.
“No, I get it. And you don’t have to keep calling me ‘sir’ right now.” Peyton now had a relatively clean blanket draped around him, and Jake had thrown on an old but clean sweatshirt and sweatpants. Peyton was also able to wash up with soap in warmish water heated in a kettle on a grate over the fire pit, and at least now he didn’t feel as gamey as he had since munching on the carcass. “Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t have trusted me, either.” He was eating what passed for chili out of a can, which Jake had also heated on the fire.
Peyton had eaten worse, and it beat the hell out of a dead carcass.
“How’s your head?” Jake asked.
Peyton touched the large goose-egg on the back of his skull where the rock hit him. “I’ve had worse, but I also had good painkillers to help with the after-effects. I should be okay by tomorrow.”
“Sorry—again. All I have is some cheap-ass vodka and Panodil.” He turned and rummaged through a wooden crate behind him. When he turned back he had the bottles of vodka and pills. He looked at the pills. “Shit. I think these expired…” He tried to do the math. “Well, I’m pretty sure they’re expired.” He held them up. “Game?”
Peyton held out his hand for the bottle of pills. “Sure. What’s Panodil?”
“It’s like acetaminophen.”
Peyton looked at the expiration date. “Eh, they’re only six years out of date. I’ll risk it.” He popped the top off the bottle. “Better than nothing.”
Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry.” He also passed Peyton a metal camp mug that was old and dented but looked clean.
Peyton poured himself half a mug of vodka and downed four of the tablets with it. The liquor didn’t quite burn all the way down, but it was far from the smoothest he’d ever imbibed.
Jake still sniffled from when he’d cried, relieved and overjoyed to learn Carl was not only alive and safe, but now happily mated.
And that he could safely be reunited with his son. Peyton knew it’d be a shame if the guy had turned out to be a homophobic asshole, but at least something was going right.
For a change.
Unfortunately, Jake had no phone or access to one. He’d also nixed any idea of trying to call for help from inside Russia for fear of being located and recaptured.
“You were probably unconscious for no more than a day,” Jake reasoned. “I mean, you said you didn’t piss or shit yourself, so…” He shrugged.
Peyton nodded. “I’m tracking.”
“I have no clue what date or day it is,” Jake continued, “but we’re…” He considered it. “I haven’t been keeping strict track of time, but I’m pretty sure we’re two days past full moon. No more than three.”
Peyton thought about it. “Two days on the run. Less than a day after waking up captured until escaping. Probably less than a day drugged while being transported. That means I’ve likely been off the radar for at least three days. If I can’t call from here, how do we get back to Norway?”
Jake grinned. “We don’t have to. We only need to make it next door to Finland. I know a couple of family farms over there, not far from the border. Someone there can drive us to the Ivalo Airport. We’ll fly to Bodø.”
He drew Peyton a rough map in the dirt with a piece of metal he used as a fire poker. “We’re approximately here. Ivalo Airport is around here. All we have to do is make it to here, though, because the border’s there and that’s the best place to cross. I’ve made that trip many times. Usually shifted, but no reason we can’t do it on two legs as long as we’re careful. Like I said, it’s only about thirty clicks or so. There are hardly any guards around that area because it’s marshy and crappy and they’re not paid enough to slog through mud when they rarely have issues with smuggling there. Plus, people bribe them all the time to cross back and forth, so no one usually tries to sneak over. They make maybe two patrols at night. Not even if it’s raining. They’ll drive down the road and back and call it good without so much as looking out the windows.”
“And then what do we do? You’ve been in the wild a long time and maybe don’t realize we need special IDs to fly domestically now, and passports for international travel. Everything’s computerized at the borders. Not to mention we’ll need money for tickets. My wallet and passport were in my hotel room. I left them behind because I suspected I’d be shifting and didn’t want to leave them in the car. All I had on me when the fuckers caught me were my clothes.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, we should probably fly straight to London and reduce our chances of contact with authorities, right? Your contact there can pick us up, can’t he?”
Peyton stared at him. “Again, that won’t be easy. In fact, it’ll be impossible. We’ll need to contact people to send us IDs and money. Or have them arrange an exfil for us from Finland.”
Jake grinned. “You’re a Prime, aren’t you? Leave the rest to me.” His smile faded. “Let’s get out of this fucking place first. We are not safe here. Not anymore, depending on how hard they’re still hunting for you. Especially not both of us together. We need to move sooner rather than later.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” Peyton asked.
“Your Russian comprehension might be nonexistent, but you were right about that word. They were taking you to what I suspect is a research lab at an abandoned military base.” He again pointed to a spot on his roughly drawn floor map. “Privately run by some hefty people with tight connections to the higher-ups in Russia. And not good people.”
That perked Peyton’s ears. “Russian mafia?”
