“We’ll take your parkas and walkie-talkies, too.”
“And the gloves,” I said.
“Right,” she said. “And the gloves.”
Ashley ordered them to sit on their bare hands while I shook the snow out of my jumpsuit and got dressed. Maybe I should have taken Pete or Bob’s jumpsuit, too, since theirs were dry and mine was wet from stuffing it with snow. We slipped on the gloves and parkas. Ashley tied their hands behind their backs with the ends of the leashes and the bloodhounds watched us, tongues lolling from their blubbery mouths, with the happy attitude of all dogs. At that moment, I envied their obliviousness. I knelt beside one and he slobbered all over my face. His spit was warm and thick and under any other circumstances I would have been grossed out, but now my heart pounded with joy. It’s hard to think of a single thing that can bring you more happiness than a good dog.
We hiked west, keeping the ravine on our left, so we wouldn’t end up walking in circles. Occasionally we could hear the steady thumpa-thumpa of a helicopter over the trees to our right, louder, then fainter, then louder again. Ashley walked in front of me, the AK-47 slung over her back, the walkie-talkie pressed against her ear as she monitored the chatter.
It started to snow. Flinty little flakes at first, then fat wet balls the size my thumbnail. The ground began to rise and the trees thinned out.
Ashley stopped suddenly, one gloved finger pressed against her ear while she held the walkie-talkie against the other. Snow and ice clung to the fur of her parka, framing her round face in shimmering crystals. She wore no makeup and her cheeks were bright pink from the cold and her lips slightly blue, but I don’t think she ever looked prettier.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Shh!” She listened for a few more seconds.
“They’re talking about a package . . . on its way . . . This sounds like Nueve . . . All units to rendezvous at the helipad . . . Nueve’s en route . . .”
“Package?”
She looked at her watch. “Thirty minutes.”
“What package?”
She was walking again, quickly now, back into the trees and up the slope. Our boots crunched in the fresh snowfall.
“I’m guessing it’s a replacement for the SD 1031 in your pocket,” she said.
“He gets his hands on that and we’re toast,” I said.
“What’s the plan?”
“We have to stop him before he takes delivery.”
“That’s more of a goal than a plan,” I pointed out.
“I’m open to suggestions.”
I tried to come up with one. We were two against OIPEP’s full force on the mountain. Ashley was a trained field operative and I wasn’t exactly a novice by this point; still, there were only two of us and a lot of them, plus Nueve who wouldn’t let niceties like keeping casualties low stand in his way. Even if we took a hostage, Nueve wouldn’t care. A frontal assault was suicidal, but how could we sneak in? They knew Ashley and they sure as heck knew me.
“We have to create some kind of diversion,” I said. “A fire or explosion—and while they’re distracted . . .”
“And what are we going to blow up, Alfred? The only bomb we have is inside your head.”
I stopped walking. She didn’t notice at first, she was so focused on making it to the helipad before the chopper landed. When she did, she turned and stared at me.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’ve got it,” I said. “The one thing he wants that we have.”
“I know, but he’s getting another one.” She had a concerned look on her face, like she was worried I had finally cracked.
“No,” I said. “There might be a hundred little black boxes, but there’s only one Alfred Kropp.”
01:17:04:39
Twenty-five minutes and a hard hike through dense woods and heavy snow later . . .