Facing the enemy, p.26
Facing the Enemy, page 26
She vowed to do better.
Light filtered through the chinks in the moss above her. Today, she and Sammy needed to move their camp. Staying in one place for any length of time led to complacency. That was something they could ill afford.
Sammy stirred beside her. “Is it morning?”
“Aye.”
“Can we eat the rest of that pheasant for breakfast?”
“After we wash it in the burn. It’s probably covered with ants by now.”
The tarp crackled as she rose to her knees and pushed aside the fir boughs across the shelter’s entrance. A faint mist fell, beading the leaves and organic matter outside. They were in for a dreich day. At least the pine needles had kept them dry overnight.
“Can we catch pollywogs?” Sammy asked.
She cleared her throat. “We need to move camp first, then we’ll see about those pollywogs.”
“Why can’t we stay here?” Sammy asked.
“Once a good cloud cover descends, it could be days before the rain lets up. I doubt our shelter will stay dry.” Elise couldn’t tell him that playing hide-and-seek with a monster would take up the majority of their day—perhaps even longer if help did not arrive soon.
Sitting side by side on a large boulder, she and Sammy picked the pheasant’s carcass clean.
“Do you think my dad will find us today?” Sammy asked, licking his greasy fingers, then rubbing them on the moss beside him.
“Possibly.” Elise infused as much cheer into her voice as she could muster. No sense telling him that their being found depended entirely on Harry’s memory of a chance conversation they had held last summer.
If Harry didn’t locate them soon, she’d need to secure Sammy and go on the offensive with Gilmont. No one associated with her—not even those with a remote connection—was safe as long as she remained his target. The ex-professor had a sadistic way of retaliating against those he sought by harming those nearest and dearest to his intended victims.
Her throat constricted. If she and Sammy made it out of this alive, she had no intention of taking her parents for granted again. Caring for Sammy had woken her to the massive responsibilities parents carried when it came to raising bairns. She owed her own parents a debt of gratitude for all they had done on her behalf. Despite her stellar reputation, she had not been an easy child.
“I’m still hungry,” Sammy told her matter-of-factly.
“Let’s see what we can forage.” Elise rose to her feet and shifted her hips to a more comfortable position. “Do you like mushrooms?”
“They taste better than bugs.”
“I agree.”
Sammy flashed her a grin that reminded her of his father. It made her heart ache for Harry’s strong arms and comforting presence. Why was it that dire circumstances lent such clarity of perspective? She loved Harry and valued his presence.
“Let’s bury this carcass before we go; no sense leaving proof we were in the vicinity.”
With Sammy’s aid, Elise tipped a large rock to the side and shoved the pheasant’s remains underneath it. After reconstructing her makeshift rucksack, she lifted her bow, and they started off, abandoning their campsite to the elements.
“Will the bad guys find our shelter?” A wee furrow dented Sammy’s brow.
“Not unless they stumble upon it; it’s fairly well camouflaged. I don’t know about you, but I’m still hungry and looking forward to those mushrooms.”
“Where do we find them?” Sammy looked up at her.
His tummy growled, and his woebegone expression tore at her heart. Elise squeezed his shoulder.
“Some grow on trees this time of year. Others thrive in the earth and look like regular white toadstools. Maybe later I’ll catch a fish or shoot a squirrel like an Indian with my bow.” Elise rubbed her hands together, then tucked them inside her pockets. Moisture dripped off the leaves overhead, and she drew up her hood. “Once we’ve got our food sorted, would you like to look for pollywogs?”
“That would be jolly fun.” Sammy bounced, his hunger forgotten.
“Afterward, we’ll need to build another shelter.” She didn’t add that today’s temperature was a fair bit cooler and so, undoubtedly, would be their night.
Though Elise detested vermin, she wasn’t one to quibble when she had a child to feed. A few hours later, she shot a dozen arrows before taking down two gray squirrels.
The lad was too hungry to wait until dark for them to hike up to the ridge to cook their food. Against her better judgment, Elise concocted a spit under a granite outcropping not far from the river. Sammy squatted beside her, observing her handiwork while she cleaned and skewered the squirrels, then set them on a spit to cook. Smoke filled the cavity under the outcropping, then seeped out under the trees.
While the critters cooked, she and Sammy foraged, returning often to rotate the spit. Alongside a burn, Elise located pink purslane and hairy bittercress. Not long after, she dug up a patch of wild garlic. The only mushrooms they came across were velvet shanks, an orangey-brown, capped fungi that grew on hardwoods. Returning to the fire with her cache, Elise added the mushrooms and garlic to the meat. Soon, the mouthwatering aromas were almost more than she could bear.
Sitting on the ground, she and Sammy propped themselves against the warm rock and dug in, burning their fingers on the hot meat.
“I like squirrel. It’s yummy,” Sammy said between bites.
“I’ll admit it’s better than I expected.”
But when she encouraged Sammy to eat their “salad” of pink purslane and hairy bittercress, Sammy turned up his nose.
After they finished, they sat in companionable silence, their bellies full for the first time all day and their backs warm from the heated rock. Exhaustion took its toll, and Elise dozed off.
A mechanical buzzing pulled Elise from her comfortable sleep.
Concerned, she made her way down to the river to scan the sky. Was that a small aircraft bobbing above the water? Elise stiffened. No one in their right mind would be out joyriding on a day like today. The pilot had to be insane . . .
The thought trailed off, and her heartbeat quickened. Had Gilmont already tracked her here? Elise ran to the fire and doused the embers with dirt. She hadn’t been careless; their smoke hugged the earth beneath the canopy. But their location near the tree line worried her. She and Sammy needed to move deeper into the forest to avoid detection.
“Sammy, hide behind those downed trees,” Elise commanded in a sharp staccato.
“You said we were going to look for pollywogs,” he argued with a mutinous expression.
“Get behind those trees. Now.” Elise pointed, her tone brooking no argument.
While the lad scampered off in the general direction she had indicated, she swung behind the outcropping of rock, her eyes straining through the trees. A small ultralight gyrocopter, carrying two men, flew dangerously low, just above the water’s surface.
A scouting expedition? No one flew at that altitude unless they were searching for a lost hiker—or a woman they planned to kill. Elise sucked in a lungful of cold air and prayed the copter would continue upriver and allow her and Sammy time to secrete themselves in thicker foliage.
She had expected Gilmont by late afternoon. It was the main reason she had fed Sammy now instead of waiting until evening.
“Sammy,” Elise hissed from her position behind the boulder. “Stay hidden.”
The gyrocopter followed the waterway, drawing closer to their location. Elise grabbed their gear, covered her bright hair with her hood, then ran toward a thicket of blooming hawthorn.
Panting, she crouched among the leaves, her heart beating wildly against her ribs, while she prayed that Sammy had found a better place to hide.
Flying low above the River Braun, Gilmont rang Lauren at the CCTV command center. One hundred feet beneath him, a waterfall and foaming pools stood out from the forest.
“Have you located Agent Taylor yet?” Gilmont asked.
“Callie and Joe each came across some campers in the wild, but neither of them was Agent Taylor.”
“What about Richardson and Hicks?”
“Nothing. Just the typical hillwalkers. The wind has kept public numbers to a minimum this morning.” Lauren cleared her throat. “It’s probably nothing, but a sedan left the Hermitage lot yesterday afternoon and didn’t reappear on CCTV cameras for forty minutes. When it rejoined the A9, it was much farther north than I had anticipated.”
“Which means?” Gilmont rolled his eyes. Lauren often had difficulty getting to the point.
“The car must have taken a dirt track before they reentered the carriageway near Calvine. Since that vehicle exited the Hermitage fifteen minutes after Agent Taylor entered the lot, it occurred to me that the driver might have given her a lift.”
“Did you get the plate number?”
“Yes. I have a name and address.”
“Excellent. Send Hicks over there to get the particulars. Tell him no holds barred. I need answers.”
“Yes, Professor.” Lauren hesitated. “Are you sure Agent Taylor’s in the forest? What if she abandoned her 4x4 and someone gave her a lift out of the vicinity?”
“It’s entirely possible, but I have a hunch she’s here somewhere.”
“Alrighty,” Lauren said and disconnected.
Flying over the water, Gilmont adjusted his binoculars to the dirt road where a partially hidden 4x4 had parked. He zoomed in on the vehicle. No park insignias. Interesting. Not many braved the elements in this weather. He took in the rocky ridge some distance up the forested hillside from the river.
This densely wooded section of parkland didn’t allow much visibility through the trees. Other than the granite ridge, the forest was split by numerous waterways. Prickles of anticipation broke out across Gilmont’s skin. If someone had been hunting him, this section of park would provide a perfect cover.
“Follow that river for a good bit.” Gilmont spoke to the pilot through his com.
“Aye, sir.” Drew swung the gyrocopter about, looping toward Errochty Water, which bordered the Tay Forest Park’s northernmost section.
“Go lower.”
Drew lowered the gyrocopter another twenty-five feet until they fairly skimmed the treetops. Using his thermal viewer, Gilmont scanned the forest for an upright image. Nothing but four-legged lifeforms materialized.
Lauren rang back. “Professor, a couple dropped two hillwalkers on the dirt track not far from Calvine. A woman and a boy.”
“Two hillwalkers?” Gilmont asked, a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He’d been certain Agent Taylor was here.
“Yes.”
“It can’t be her.”
“I don’t know where the boy came from, but the woman answered to Agent Taylor’s description. She had red hair tucked in a beanie and was quite tall—a real stunner.”
That had to be Agent Taylor, but then what was she doing with a boy? Was it one of her freakish starts to throw him off the scent? No matter. His gut was right. Agent Taylor had entered this section of the parkland.
“Lauren, send Callie, Richardson, and Joe over here.” Gilmont rattled off the GPS coordinates, then hung up.
“Drew, branch over to the next waterway. Fly low; I can’t see anything from this height through the canopy.”
“Aye,” Drew answered through the headset and dropped them close to the river’s surface.
They followed the tributary for several miles, the water the color of mist. Gilmont rubbed the moisture off his helmet visor and lifted his binoculars to a long, rocky ridge. He tapped his foot, inwardly fuming. This hunt was proving difficult. The wind gusted from the rear, spinning the rotors faster.
He sniffed the air, and his pulse raced. “I smell a campfire,” Gilmont said into his com set. “Turn around.”
Chapter 33
Harry refused to let forty-knot gusts slow his pace. Pushing up the slippery incline, Harry and Sharidon reached the base of the ridge, then spent the better part of an hour searching for a way to the top of the granite cliffs.
When they located a promising ravine, Sharidon scampered ahead, clamoring up the boulders like a mountain goat. Harry lagged behind due to the jet suit’s weight in his pack.
Sharidon barely reached the top before the whine of a small aircraft, flying low over the river, made Harry pause partway up a particularly slippery boulder. He narrowed his eyes on the aircraft.
A gyrocopter? In this wind?
Sharidon stood forty feet above him on the ridge’s precipice, fully exposed to the elements. “What do you make of that, Benson?” he hollered.
Readjusting his position, Harry lifted his binoculars and adjusted the lenses. “They’re either crazy or part of Gilmont’s regime.”
The man in the front seat appeared misshapen. Harry enlarged his lens to get a clearer view. “The man in front’s got a shoulder launcher,” Harry shouted. “They’ve got to be part of Gilmont’s crew.”
The copter circled an area by the river. Had they spotted Elise?
Harry swung his field glasses and combed the forest beneath the gyrocopter. A flash of light. The man seated in front had his own pair of binoculars zeroed on them.
The copter swung about and started in their direction.
“Get off that ridge!” Harry yelled.
Sharidon swore and dashed along the rim. Stones rattled and pinged off boulders in his wake.
Harry pivoted, then jumped boulder to boulder to reach the cover the trees provided. The gyrocopter buzzed directly over them, swung about, and followed the ridge, obviously looking for a place to land.
Leaping past Harry, Sharidon slid partway across a shallow ledge, then jumped. Harry followed. Partway down, Sharidon lost Harry’s rifle between two enormous granite stacks. Bringing up the rear, Harry paused to retrieve it.
“Leave it, Benson.”
The Irish agent, with his lighter pack, darted ahead. He hit a patch of mud and skidded across its slippery surface, his feet shooting out from under him. Sharidon yelled and tumbled three meters before Harry caught up with him and stopped his fall.
He reached down and hauled Sharidon to his feet.
Sharidon grunted and favored his leg. “I can’t put pressure on it.”
“Let’s get you into the trees.” Harry slipped his arm around Sharidon’s shoulder and supported him the dozen meters into the forest.
Once they obtained cover from the ridge, Sharidon sat on a log and lifted his trouser to assess the damage. Swelling and discoloration had already set in.
Harry inhaled sharply. “It looks broken.”
“It snapped when I went down. Leave me in that thicket.” Sharidon nodded toward a group of young saplings.
“Not an option. You’re too close to the ridge; Gilmont will find you.”
“I have a number of toys at my disposal. If Gilmont happens past, I’ll use them. Get out of here. Go save your boy.”
Harry vacillated, torn on the best course of action.
“Go. I assure you I can take care of myself.”
Unhappy about the situation, Harry assisted Sharidon to the thicket and got him situated before he started down the hillside. He hadn’t anticipated Gilmont’s arrival until later in the day, after he had extracted Sammy and Elise from the forest.
With Sharidon down, Harry was Elise and Sammy’s only backup.
Hot prickles erupted on Elise’s arms and neck. Cautious not to make a sudden movement, Elise peered up through the trees, searching for where the gyrocopter had landed on the ridge, but the distance was too great to determine its exact location.
Who else but Gilmont would search on a day like this?
Snippets of memories rose like a cloud of midges. A car chase in Oxford as a lorry plowed into her and her former MI6 partner’s car. Watching Adam’s funeral from her hospital bed. Months of rehabilitation . . .
Elise thrust the accident from her mind.
She and Sammy needed to leave the vicinity. Mindful of her hips, she approached the downed trees where she had told the lad to hide, but Sammy wasn’t there.
“Sammy,” she called in a shaky voice. “Sammy, where are you?”
A frisson of fear clamped onto her spine and radiated out to her extremities. Turning in a half-circle, her eyes scoured the shrubbery. Where was he?
Gilmont climbed out of the gyrocopter and unloaded the shoulder launcher. The hillwalker with the binoculars had spotted his weapon. He was sure of it. Why else would those two men scramble off the ridge like that? If he didn’t stop them, they might notify the authorities before he achieved his purposes.
Lifting his field glasses, Gilmont studied the tree line where he had last seen the two men. Movement through the branches called his attention just inside the forest. That had to be them. Dropping his binoculars, Gilmont uncapped both ends of the launcher and unlatched the pins. He lifted the shoulder launcher and aimed it toward the trees. Rocks crumbled beneath his feet as he pressed the button. Gilmont jumped back as the missile launched from the tube. Boom.
Bark, branches, and limbs shot into the air. One of the oaks toppled with a resounding crash.
Gilmont placed the launcher on the ground and pivoted to check the gyrocopter. The entire side of the cockpit had melted, warping the frame.
Gilmont swore. When he had purchased the launcher, his supplier had warned him that the backblast on this model caused serious damage.
Drew bent over the control panel.
“Will it run?” Gilmont asked.
“The com’s gone. Even if I could get it up and running, the body is compromised. How am I going to explain this to the Aero Club?” Drew straightened, his eyes accusing.
“I’ll purchase them a new one.” Buying off the Aero Club was the least of Gilmont’s worries.
