Kurt looked at Ridley and wondered briefly where his spirit might have gone. Up or down, or to some spiritual waiting room, where his fate would be adjudicated by powers unknown. Or maybe he’d merely vanished into the fabric of the universe. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Whatever the answer was, the man was gone, while the problems he’d set in motion lingered on. Kurt intended to deal with those problems once and for all.
After rifling through Ridley’s coat and pockets, looking for anything that might be useful, he walked back to the Chinese man he’d pulled out of the snow. The man hadn’t moved. He was in shock, his foot a mangled mess, his leg swelling until the strings of his boot looked like they might snap from the strain.
“Give me your radio,” Kurt demanded.
The man complied without protest.
Kurt checked the volume and pressed the talk button three times to get everyone’s attention. Pressing and holding it, he spoke. “You’re down two cars. One of them is on fire in a ditch and the other one’s buried under the snow, halfway up the switchback road. Some of your men are buried with it. I figure they have about fifteen minutes of air left. I suggest you come get them before it runs out.”
A burst of static was followed by Gushan’s baffled voice. “Austin?”
“I’m giving your lieutenant a shovel in case he wants to startdigging. But by the look on his face, he’s not going to get much done by himself.”
“Austin?” Gushan said again. “What’s happening? Austin?”
Kurt dropped a shovel beside the stunned Chinese operative and then made his way back to the Big Orange Rig, tossing the radio and the submachine gun off the cliff as he went. He climbed into the passenger seat as Joe got them moving.
They wheeled around slowly on the narrow mountain road, giving Kurt a view of the fjord that stretched away to the south. If Ridley’s dying words were to be believed, the EAGL was out there somewhere parked on a frozen lake.
Chapter 38
Comrade Borisov and his men had remained in their seats after the commotion at the tavern. After all, they had nothing to do with it.
The police had come and gone. The place remained open. Half the patrons left, but the others, like the Russians, stayed behind late into the evening.
Borisov had come here for a meeting, and it wasn’t with the scruffy man who’d been described by the witnesses as running from the scene with a gunshot wound. And while there was little chance the shooting had anything to do with his meeting, especially considering how the Chinese and Americans had run out the door after the man, it didn’t mean his contact wouldn’t show. And when he did, Borisov would demand an explanation.
Three rounds later, his patience was rewarded. Limping across the tavern floor was the broad-shouldered man whom he knew as Ahab. “It’s about time you graced us with your presence.”
Ahab stood at the edge of the table, his fingers wrapped around the silver handle of the cane. “May I sit down?” he said. “My leg aches in this weather.”
“Sure,” Borisov said. With a wave of his hand, he directed theother men to move off into a shielding position, where they could keep others from looking and listening.
Ahab sat across from him, leaning the cane against the wall.
“I hope you brought us here for more than a box of junk and a show,” Borisov began.
The box of “junk” was a small container of parts from the C-17 that had been delivered to their table before the shooting. Some of the items were specifically identified as coming from the EAGL. Borisov had not been impressed.
“I thought you would appreciate a chance to study the material before we met,” Ahab said. “Are they not genuine?”
“Some of them appear to come from an American plane,” Borisov replied. “But that doesn’t mean they came off the missing one. And some of them…I’m not sure what they are.”
“I was told they come from the guidance unit,” Ahab mumbled. “Unfortunately, the only man who could confirm that is now dead.”
Borisov was not surprised. “The man who ran out bleeding.”
“He was one of the hijackers,” Ahab said. “A mission specialist who worked on the laser itself.”
“Who shot him?”
“He got careless and allowed the Chinese to see him. They tried to abduct him. He fought and one of them foolishly shot him in the stomach.”
“How do you know he’s dead?”
“The police radio channel is not scrambled. Ridley crashed the van halfway up the mountain. He bled out.”
“How do we know the Chinese didn’t get the location from him first?”
