Rogue Soldier (13 page)

The man on their side rolled his window down and yelled out, mostly swearwords, in Russian.

Mike paid no attention to him as he dragged Tessa on, keeping his body between the men and her. If they realized who she was too soon, things could go bad real fast. Then he was finally in line with the cab and turned, braced Tessa as she flipped back her hood with one hand and pulled the gun and aimed with the other. The men's momentary confusion was enough. She squeezed off two shots in quick succession before they realized what was going on, both bullets hitting their aim.

She jumped up and winked at him. “What did I tell you?” She strutted just a little as she went to the back of the truck and pulled aside the canvas. “What the hell?”

He pulled his gun. Were there more men in the back? Had they picked up help at Uelen?

But when he got next to her, he didn't find anyone else. He didn't find anything at all. The truck was empty.

 

“W
HERE DID THE CRATES GO
?”

The stunned look on Mike's face was so out of character, Tessa would have laughed if she wasn't so bewildered herself.

“They must have made the drop already.”

“Where? When?”

“After we passed them.” Mike kicked the license plate. “Maybe they never meant to take the load to
Providenya. There has to be police there, some army. Security, in any case—they have an airport.”

“Maybe they just wanted the warheads out of Uelen, away from the port authority, looking for a quiet spot to make a transfer.” She finished the thought for him.

“Right. They don't need to go to the airport to rendezvous with a plane. A snow plane can land on any flat stretch of snow, provided it's frozen enough. Or they could be passing the goods on to a chopper.”

“But we haven't heard anything.” Noise traveled far over the thick silence of the frozen tundra, and anything that came from Providenya would have flown almost directly overhead.

“What if it's not a direct exchange, for confidentiality's sake? The guys who brought the warheads might not know who the customer is. The deal is between two bosses—the delivery and pickup crew don't meet face to face.”

He was making a hell of a lot of sense. “So they dropped the crates at a prearranged location and called in the drop.”

He nodded. “Can't be more than a few miles from here. If they had the pickup plane waiting in Providenya, it would take a while to get here after they received the call that the goods were dropped.” He was already running for the cab.

She was right behind him. She yanked the body out of the seat the same time he did on the other side, then they were in and he had the motor started, backing down the road with just as much speed as they dared to go. There was no room to turn around.

“If they covered the crates with snow, we might miss them,” she thought out loud.

“They couldn't have covered them. They would want the chopper to find them.”

“They might have had some kind of a beacon.” She was taking off her seat belt already, opening the sliding window that separated the cab from the back of the truck. “I'll watch for anything out of place,” she said as she climbed through.

She had to hang on to the metal ribs of the side, but made her way quickly to the end. Sitting above the taillights with the canvas pulled back was no picnic. The freezing air blew into her face so hard she could only open her eyes to a slit. Still, it was sufficient.

She watched the accumulated snow ridges on each side, waiting to see where they were knocked down. She hugged her arms around her body. Her face was going numb. Nothing. Maybe the men had left the crates at Uelen. She was about to get up to talk to Mike about it when they came to where the wind had blown enough snow across the road to level it with
the rest of the land, the same spot where they had passed the smugglers an hour or so before.

She yelled back, then got up and ran to the open window as the truck was already slowing. “This is it.”

“Figures. Easier to push the crates on the snow then trying to lift them over the snow bank.” Mike shut off the engine.

She went back to the tailgate and jumped off.

“This way.” He was already following the tracks.

The smugglers hadn't hidden the crates, after all, they were sitting in an indentation of snowdrifts, not something someone would have caught driving down the road if he wasn't looking, but in plain sight of anyone from above.

There were four.

“Brady,” Mike said. “He must have been in the chopper that took the crate from the dog sled.”

“And he gave it right back to the smugglers. I'll bring the truck over,” she said, and made a run for it.

By the time she backed up to the crates, Mike had already pushed one from the rest.

“It's gonna be heavy,” he said, stating the obvious.

They tried anyway.

She lifted until she thought her eyes would pop out, but they couldn't get the crate onto the truck bed. It had probably taken all four men to lower it, an
easier task than lifting the thing up with gravity working against them.

“Damn it.” She jumped back as her end of the crate slipped from her fingers and slammed into the snow.

She looked up and scanned the empty sky. They still had time. She bent again, wiggled her fingers under the crate in the snow, and when Mike gave the word, put all her strength into the lift. They made it up to elbow height, but at that point they had to switch from lifting to pushing up, a transition they couldn't make. The crate slammed into the snow a second time.

Defeat tasted bitter in her mouth. Until this moment she hadn't given failing much thought; now it seemed inevitable. “Try the phone again.”

He did. “Still not working.”

“Wait a minute.” She looked back down the road from where they'd just come. “If the smugglers made arrangements for the crates to be picked up, they must have had some access to communications.”

“Good thinking. I'm going back to search the bodies. Are you coming or staying?”

“Staying. In case anybody shows up here.”

He stepped up to the cab and tossed her one of the rifles. “You still got the handgun?”

She nodded. “Hurry back.”

“Count on it,” he said before he closed the door and drove away.

He was going just fifteen miles down the road. Nothing to worry about. She stomped her feet to keep warm. When they were done here, she was going to find the nearest hot tub, crawl into it and forget to come out.

She walked around the crates absentmindedly, listening for the sounds of a motor nearing, be it from the road or the sky. She stopped as something caught her attention. The crate in the back was shaped slightly differently than the other three. Interesting.

All four crates were unmarked, looking the same other than the small difference in the size of one. Did that signify anything? Were the contents different?

She tried to pry off the lid, but without success, and resisted the temptation to wedge the rifle's barrel under the edge for extra leverage. Bending the barrel was not a good idea. She needed the gun to keep its true aim. Their lives could depend on it.

She kicked the edge of the top instead with full force, and regretted it instantly as she hopped back on one foot. That had been stupid. Mukluks were great to keep one's feet warm, but they were a poor substitute for steel-toed boots.

She sat on the crate and took a deep breath. She was getting cold. The heat Mike and she had generated between them had left her body, although certain parts were still lingering pleasantly over certain
memories. She smiled. He'd been right. They
were
good together.

The admission came easier than she'd thought. And there was a second one, coming right after the first. She was still in love with him.

She took a moment and let the shock abate.

She was in love with Mike McNair.

What on earth was she going to do about it?

The choices were limited. She could either ignore her feelings or go with them. She had run from him once; she would be damned if she ran again.

He had hinted at marriage, but hadn't said anything about love. Not that it meant he didn't love her necessarily. He was a man, after all. They did tend to focus on the goal and didn't much dwell on feelings.

And if he loved her, then what?

He damn well better get down and propose as if he meant it. She was having no part in some military-style marital hijacking. She wanted romance, a clear profession of love and words of tenderness.

She shifted and the crate creaked under her. She scooted aside to look at the boards, wiggled them. One was a little loose. She slid off the crate and yanked the board around some more, and after a while it gave.

The gap was enough to squeeze in one hand. There were rows and rows of smaller boxes stacked
under some fluffy packing material. She grabbed one, but it was too big to pull out. She pushed the packing aside, pulled her hand out so she could see in.
A plain box. Great.
Then she caught a red line on the corner. She pushed more stuffing out of the way, and her heart about stopped. She was standing next to a crate of TNT.

And that was not the worst news. Tessa looked up at the sound of an approaching chopper.

 

“S
HORTY
,” M
IKE BARKED
into the phone, driving the truck in reverse with one hand. “Where the hell are you? I need you, buddy.”

“Mike?”

“I'm on the road between Uelen and Providenya, about sixty miles out of Uelen. We got what we came for. We need pick up. Badly.”

“Are you all right?”

“Not for long, if you're not coming. Their pick up is probably on the way. It's all down to who'll get here first. Are you at the hangars?” He could hear the noise of a chopper through the phone.

“Yeah. It'll take me just a minute to take off. I already had clearance for a different destination. Hang in there. I'll be there before you know it. Trust me.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

They clicked off at the same time. He tossed the
phone aside, put both hands on the steering wheel and stepped up his speed.

He saw them from his side-view mirror first, a Russian Hip, Mi-8 helicopter, already landed with the blades still turning, two men in white Arctic overalls on the ground, both with their rifles aimed at Tessa, who was holding them off.

The pilot was still in his seat. Didn't look like he was getting involved. A hired man most likely. Good.

Mike tore down the road, ignoring the gunfire one of the men opened on him. He was out of the truck a split second after the engine was shut off. He stayed in the cover of the vehicle, took a quick look, enough to see that Tessa had taken cover behind one of the crates.

How long could they hold out? The men had automatic weapons, while he and Tessa had old rifles with a few bullets each. Shorty was never going to get to them in time.

Mike shot at the men, forcing them to the ground. He was prepared to do whatever it took to keep Tessa safe for as long as possible.

Some of his bullets must have hit uncomfortably close to the chopper because it lifted up, circled above them a couple of times, then landed again on the road in front of the truck, out of the line of fire.

Mike ducked as the side of the truck got sprayed with bullets. Damn it. He had to move. If they hit the gas tank he'd be blown sky-high. And that was just what they were trying to do.

He threw himself into the snow and crawled on his stomach using for cover any indentation he could find. He needed to get behind Tessa, who was covering him as best she could. How long before she ran out of bullets?

For now, the attackers left her alone, being careful with the warheads, and concentrated on him. He had to duck and keep his head down. The shots came steadily. Not much of a chance to answer, except when Tessa kept the men flattened to the snow, but then their white Arctic overalls made them nearly invisible.

Still, he managed to take one out. The other, feeling his own doom, now that he was outnumbered, started to shoot indiscriminately at Tessa and the crates. Tessa pulled down, tossed her rifle aside. She was out of bullets. She pulled her pistol, managed to wound the guy, but it didn't slow him down any. He knew now that he was going to die. He advanced forward with the kind of bravado only men who have nothing to lose tended to have.

Then Tessa was out of bullets altogether, and Mike in the worst possible position with her and the crates between him and the attacker. He crawled to the side. He had to get to a spot from where he could take a good shot without risking her life. He discarded his right glove, wanting to make sure nothing could mess up the next shot, the only one he might get. The metal of the trigger was so cold it burned his skin, his finger stiff from the frigid temperature before he got more than a couple of yards.

Then a shot came from his right and he rolled before he realized it hadn't been aimed at him. The man on the other side of the crates fell silent. The pilot had taken him out.

What the hell? He looked for the man and spotted him just in time as he jumped from behind a snowbank and rushed to Tessa's side.

His body, the way he moved, seemed familiar.

Then he took off his helmet.

“Shorty?”

Mike came to his knees, then pushed to his feet, staring at the man. “How the hell did you get here?”

Shorty raised his pistol to Tessa. “As soon as I heard it was you those idiots took, I knew there would be trouble,” he said to her.

No! Not now when they were so close to having made it, damn it.
Mike held his grip on the rifle tight as hot fury washed through him, mixed with a staggering sense of betrayal. He held back the overwhelming urge to charge at the man and let the bullets fly where they may. He couldn't put Tessa in any more danger than she already was. The sight of the gun pressed to her skin made his heartbeat slow.

He loved her.
Hell of a time to realize it now.

He wasn't going to let anything happen to her, that was for damned sure.

He kept his eyes on Shorty. “I thought I knew you.”

“You do.” The asshole grinned. “Haven't you always said I was the craziest bastard you ever met?”

He nodded. Yes, he'd said that enough, jokingly. Shorty had pulled his share of stunts over the years. “Not this crazy.”

The man shrugged.

“I can't believe you would hook up with Brady.” He made an effort to talk friendly and keep the rage out of his voice. He measured the distance carefully between them.
Too wide to cover in a single jump.

“We've always worked good together.” Shorty grinned.

Always?
The words slammed into Mike with a physical force. The memory of how Shorty had begged him not to turn the man in. “He never had anything on you, did he?”

Shorty shook his head. “We were running that little business together.”

The betrayal stung. “I thought we were friends.”

Shorty shrugged. “That weekend in Vegas with the guys? I lost more than I let on.”

He had to get over it. He had to get his mind off the past and into the present, find a way to stop this insanity. “How about now? Did Brady convince you
this was some noble fight against an old enemy who hasn't lost all his teeth yet?”

Shorty sneered at him. “This time around I'm the boss. Brady did what I told him.” He looked between Tessa and Mike. “I must say, he did disappoint me.”

“At least you can be certain that won't happen again,” Tessa said, her voice clipped with anger.

Shorty raised his eyebrow. “So that's how it went down? The old boy is out?”

Mike nodded.

Shorty didn't seem bothered. “Come on, now,” he said to Mike. “Don't look at me like that. You never had a head for business. You can't be mad at me because I have.”

Mike kept his fury in check. “Have you thought about how many people are going to die? Women and children. Can you live with that?”

“I'm pushing no buttons. Besides, nuclear weapons don't kill people. People kill people.”

“It's not a joke, damn it.” He heard his voice rise and took it down a notch. He could not lose his cool now. “It's not worth it, man. If it's money you need, let's talk about it. We were friends once. I'll help.”

“Not with this stuff.” Shorty shook his head.

Was that a hint of wistfulness in his voice?

“How about Vicky and the kids? This is going
to come out sooner or later. Think of what it will do to them.”

“I'm leaving them taken care of. I'm not cut out for marriage, anyway. Should have never done it.” His face turned hard and serious. “I'm in trouble with the wrong people this time. I have to leave the country and I can't ever come back. I need enough money to last the rest of my life.”

“We were friends once. You said I could trust you.”

“I lied.”

What was wrong with Tessa's eye? She was blinking like a semaphore. Mike nodded as if to Shorty's last words, letting Tessa know she had his attention.

She looked at his rifle then back into his eyes, to the rifle then to him again. What did she want? He couldn't toss her the gun, and he couldn't lift it, aim it and shoot Shorty, not when all the man had to do was pull the trigger and Tessa would be dead.

“So what now?” he asked.

“Now you help me load the crates and I won't shoot either of you. I'm gonna have to take out the truck, however.”

Mike shrugged. “Leaving us alive won't be much use then, will it? The weather will kill us, anyway.” He was talking only to stall for time. Shorty meant to kill them. He had no doubt about that.

“Maybe. Then again, you always were a crafty bastard. No telling what you'll come up with.”

“Leave us the truck.”

Shorty laughed. “You're in no position to negotiate.”

“And if I don't help you?”

“I'll shoot your girlfriend.”

“You touch her, I rip your throat out.”

“That's nice. Consider this, though. I either fly out of here with the crates or blow them up right here. I'm not going to prison. And if I have to bite the dust—well, snow—you two will be biting it with me.” He paused. “Let's see, where is the wind blowing from? The west. Too bad for the people of Alaska.”

“It would take more than that pistol to set off those warheads.”

“How about 150 pounds of TNT?”

It was his turn to sneer. “That would work if you had it.”

“He does,” Tessa said quietly and nodded toward one of the crates.

Oh, hell.

“I know.” Shorty flashed him a superior grin. “It's not smart to transport it together with the other stuff, but what can I do? It was on the purchase order.”

Tessa blinked three times, slowly. One. Two. Three. Then she moved her feet a little.

She was getting ready to do something. On the count of three. He nodded again, as if to Shorty.

She blinked. One. Two. Three. She threw herself to the ground at the same time as Mike raised his gun. Shorty squeezed off a shot, but it missed her, she was already gone. Then the pistol was aimed at Mike. He returned fire, jerking the rifle barrel up a second later as Tessa jumped into the picture.

She threw herself on Shorty from the side, catching him unaware. Her first kick sent the pistol flying, the second broke Shorty's jaw with a sickening crunch. The man howled as he rolled on the ground, making it hard to wedge the rifle barrel under his chin, but Mike managed.

Tessa had the pistol by then, holding it on the man. “All right, stop the drama. It's just a broken bone,” she said.

Mike glanced at her. Damn she was tough. He picked up his glove and pulled it on. Couldn't afford to get frostbite now. He was planning on doing some serious fondling at the earliest opportunity.

“Okay, this is how it's gonna go,” he said to Shorty as he pulled him up. “You help me load the crates into the chopper, and I'll leave you here with the truck.”

Shorty shook his head.

“If you don't help, I'll break your nose. We can keep going in that direction for a while. There are a lot of ways to hurt a man without impairing his ability to lift.”

Hate burned in Shorty's eyes, but he nodded.

Mike handed his rifle to Tessa. “I'll bring over the chopper. If he as much as blinks the wrong way, shoot him.”

“With pleasure,” she said, and smiled.

 

S
HORTY WAS TALKING
with his broken jaw, his words barely intelligible. Something that resembled “you take out Mike and I'll take you with me” and another couple of words about lots of money.

“I never really liked you that much. Don't push your luck,” Tessa said.

Come to think of it, this wasn't the first time he'd tried to come between her and Mike. At the hotel three years ago when she had walked in on them, he could have explained the two women belonged to him. He could have backed Mike up. Instead he had grinned at her like the jackass she now knew he was.

She drew up her shoulders against the swirling snow as the chopper set down next to the crates. Mike jumped out.

“Okay, let's do it. Remember, buddy, we are both armed and you're not. You drop the crate, you're dead.”

Mike slung the rifle over his shoulder, and Tessa did the same with hers. They grabbed the first crate, staggering under the weight. Shorty seemed to have taken Mike's words to heart because he was lifting his share.

She was glad Mike had found a way to force him to help, but she didn't feel comfortable leaving Shorty behind. He would have little choice but to go back to the evil work he had given himself to. Someday, somewhere he would pop up again. And he would do damage. She would have to talk to Mike about that.

They loaded the first crate without trouble, then the second and the third. They left the explosives for last. It was a smaller crate and went a little easier than the warheads. Then they were done, and before she could blink, Mike had Shorty on the ground on his stomach, his hands behind his back, in the process of getting tied together. When did he get the rope?

“You baftard. You faid you'll leave me.” Shorty raged against Mike as he lifted him up and tossed him after the crates.

Mike shrugged. “I lied.”

 

T
HE CHOPPER FLEW
over the icy waters of the Bering Sea.

“You know, this was fun.” Tessa leaned back in her
seat. Relief softened her muscles, but she wasn't tired. If anything, she was energized.

Mike glanced over and shook his head. “You shaved ten years off my life.”

“You need to learn to relax.”

“I'd have to be dead to feel relaxed around you.”

“Ahh, do I make you nervous?”

“Very.” But he shook his head. “With the stuff you get into—I live in constant fear for your life.”

“Didn't seem like you worried too much over me in the last couple of years.”

“I forgot how crazy you were.”

“Yeah. I bet you forgot all about me.”

He held her gaze. “I remembered plenty.”

The heat that radiated from him made her squirm in her seat.

“I suppose you're going to want some big ridiculous church wedding and make me wear a bow tie,” he said.

“It would be nice to be asked.” She drew herself up in her seat.

“You know I can't ask you, Tessa. You'd say no just for the sake of fighting.”

“So you figure your best chance is to try and bully me into it?”

“Pretty much.”

“I hope you have a backup plan.”

“Don't I always?” He flashed her a cocky smile. “If bullying doesn't work, I'm gonna seduce you and try to get a yes out of you in the throes of passion.”

The hours they'd spent on the boat flashed through her mind, making her body tingle.

“Come to think of it,” he said, “I'll do the seducing anyway. For good measure.”

“I never took you for the marrying type.”

“You changed me.”

Did she? Could she truly believe him? Could she risk her heart? She had to, didn't she? Because the only other alternative was not having him in her life, and that she couldn't bear.

“Why do you want to marry me?”

He shook his head. “I knew you were going to make me do all the mushy stuff just to see me squirm. Take over the joystick.”

She did, her heart flipping over in her chest when he took off his seat belt and went down on one knee as much as the room in the cockpit allowed.

Shorty said something in the back, the words unintelligible, his tone full of derision.

“Excuse me for a moment.” Mike stood and grabbed a glove.

There was some groaning in the back.

“Now, where were we,” he said when he came back and took up the position again.