bumper to make sure the far side of the car was clear, then hauled Aymal around with purpose. A quick peek though the back windows of the diminutive Zaporozhets sedan revealed the Dolph Lundgren look-alike and his unwieldy sidekick to be engrossed in their approach of the alcove, a situation that wouldn’t last long. Like Cole, they wore hooded abayas over western pants, and wouldn’t stick out in a crowd. But even after several days in the long robe, Cole still found maneuvering in it to be unwieldy.
Such as when one had the need to spring full bore along the street, running as lightly as possible and waving back over his head at three small co-conspirators, not looking back but hearing just a hint of a giggle drifting down in the still air. As soon as he found a gap between buildings he ducked in, bouncing off the far building with one hand and checking behind to make sure he still had Aymal.
He did. And Aymal looked astonished. “We’re still alive,” he said, and patted himself as if to make sure he was still all there. He looked much more at home in his own abaya, which covered the same white kurta and pants Cole wore. Once out of sight they could pull off the abayas and continue with their new looks—the one thing about the day’s plan that hadn’t gone awry.
Yet.
“Alive so far,” Cole agreed. They jogged as fast as they could through the narrow space and popped out the next street over, where Cole spotted an old Russian Niva transport and headed straight for it.
“Na baba,” Aymal muttered.
“Relax.” Cole checked the door handle on the way by. If it had been locked he would have kept right on walking but no, luck was on his side this time and he stopped, smoothly opening the door and sliding into the driver’s seat to drop his gun by the stubby transmission hump gearshift and immediately twist down under the dash of the diminutive—really diminutive—SUV. “Try not to look conspicuous, okay?”
“I am conspicuous,” Aymal said, reaching for dignity. “So are you. And you bleed.”
“Yeah, I bleed. Not a big deal. Just don’t hover.”
Aymal decided to lean against the wall to check a convenient problem with his foot and by then Cole had the vehicle started and straightened to find Aymal staring. “What’re you waiting for?”
“We can’t just take it.”
“You’re not really up on this terrorist-defector stuff, are you? Of course we can just take it. You heard the man— the police are at a convenient diversion. And we’ll be careful with it. Very careful.” Cole didn’t wait for Aymal to close his door before shoving the gear stick into First and peeling away into the street, using just enough restraint to avoid telltale tire squealing.
Aymal twisted to look out the back window, and when he was finally satisfied there was no immediate pursuit, he straightened, assessed their route, and said, “We should be heading for the airport.”
“To the pickup?” Cole shook his head. They were already out of Suwan, heading south in a land that almost immediately looked uninhabited, arid rocky steppes without so much as a forlorn little hut to speak of civilization. “We missed it, buddy. They’re long gone. We’re going in deep until I can arrange something new.” Something he could trust. He shifted gears to turn, pushed the speed back up until he hit the low cruising speed of this road just south of Suwan, and fumbled in the satchel lying across his thigh. The newly perforated satchel. “Dammit,” he muttered, and took his second hand off the wheel, holding it steady with his knees as he flipped the satchel open.
“Dawana!” cried Aymal, grabbing the steering wheel.
Cole narrowed his eyes for a quick glare even as he pulled his cell phone out and reclaimed the wheel. “That wasn’t very nice.”
“Bebakhshid,” Aymal said, but he didn’t sound very sorry.
“You aren’t really comfortable with the whole notion of guns and action, are you?” Cole pulled the phone antenna out with his teeth, flipped the thing open, and had his thumb headed for the pertinent speed-dial number before he realized the phone had no signal. Big surprise, given the way this had all gone so far.
“I worked at a desk,” Aymal informed him. And then, at Cole’s surprised glance, he added, “Someone has to.”
True enough. And Cole’s briefing had focused more on the particulars of getting the man out than the particulars of who the man was. He jammed the antenna against his chest to collapse it and left the phone sitting between his knees.
“Where—”
“Two choices,” Cole told him. “We can drive around in circles hunting a solid cell signal, looking obvious and pathetic. Or we can hole up somewhere and ask around until we find someone who knows where to pick up a good signal, at which point I will venture forth and bravely make some phone calls.”
“Hole up…you know this area?”
“You’d be surprised,” Cole said, feeling cheerful again. The distinct lack of pursuit turned out to be quite a mood enhancer. “More choices—we go south and hit silkworm people territory, or loop around to the north and see what can be done in Oguzka. I happen to know they have no love of people who solve their problems by shooting other people.”
“How—”Aymal stopped himself with a shake of his head.
“Faith,” Cole said. “Have faith. Do you think they would have sent me if I couldn’t do the job?”
“Your first attempt to make contact with help put us in this stolen car, fleeing bullets and leaving a blood trail.”
Cole glanced down at the blotch of red seeping through his abaya. “Trail? That’s just a single footprint, and we’re bringing it along with us. Anyway, intel didn’t know those guys had done a flip-flop on us. They’re gonna know, though.” And he said no more, for of the village he was comfortably certain.
They had, after all, been extremely grateful when his wife had saved their collective butts eight months earlier.
Chapter 5
Selena settled into the saddle, ready to head back to Athena—and from there, back to work. Back to Virginia, to prepare for her upcoming evaluation—and after that, either back to the Farm or back to Langley. Either way, she’d deal with it.
She’d just lifted the reins when her cell phone rang, the Looney Tunes riff she’d installed upon returning home from Berzhaan. Her horse startled, head raised and ears swiveling, and she shifted seat and leg just enough to reassure him. The Velcro closure of the pommel bag yielded to her grip and she slipped the phone out just as it was ready to give up on her and switch over to voice mail.
She didn’t bother with much of a greeting. Very few people had this number. “I’m here,” she said, without hesitating to check the caller ID.
“Miss Jones.”
“Shaw Jones,” she corrected the man, hunting her memory for a name to go with that familiar, gravelly voice.
“We need you back at Langley.”
She stilled. The DDO, that’s who she had on the other end of this call. Deputy Director of Operations. The man who would make the ultimate decision about her readiness
