Rogue Soldier

She fell silent for a moment. “I hate leaving the other team behind.”

“Why didn’t you bring them?”

“We’ll be lucky if we can feed the ones we’ve got. The rest are better off at the trailer. It’s stocked for them.”

“Makes sense.” He looked up as the wind shook their cover. “Did I mention I spent last winter in Siberia?”

“Doing what? The Russian Army has exchange students now?”

“Not exactly.”

Damn him. He’d been on some secret mission. She should have been going on secret missions instead of stuck in research for the past eight months. She hoped he had frozen his ass off. No, no, she wasn’t going to think about him in terms of body parts. That would take her down the slippery slope as fast as an avalanche.

“We have a good sled and good dogs,” he said. “We’re dressed for the weather. While we’re trapped here, we can get some rest, inventory our resources and figure out a plan.”

Not bad. He had gotten in all three points under “eliminating fear and increasing your chances for survival” within two minutes flat: have confidence in your superior—which he apparently considered himself—have confidence in your equipment, focus on the task at hand. Captain Tchaikovsky would have been proud.

“We have the dogs, the sled, the furs and some extra wood.” She rapped on the crate. “Two good rifles.”

“A good knife, waterproof matches and a small survivor kit,” he added.

She went through the pockets of the parka she’d taken. Her left hand came out with a bottle, the right with a cell phone. “Check this out.” She handed them to him, pulling back too fast when their fingers touched.

“Well now, what’s the challenge in this? We’re as good as out of here.” The bottle cap squeaked as he unscrewed it, the air immediately filling with the smell of cheap booze.

“You still go out with the boys?”

“I lost touch for the most part. I’m not in the army anymore.” He screwed the cap back on.

She’d figured that from his comment about Siberia. As friendly as things were between the U.S. and Russia now, they weren’t doing sleepovers just yet. “CIA?” He used to talk about giving that a try back in the old days.

“For a while.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m here.”

Fine. “Are you going to make that call?”

He was some kind of special commando, while she was in the U.S.A.C.E., U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. Hands down he had to have better connections.

He was dialing already. “No signal.” He closed the flap with a click.

“We can try again once the storm passes.”

“You could debrief me in the meanwhile. What happened with those men?”

She closed her eyes. Oh, damn. She didn’t want to think about that now. Guilt was eating at her still, and anger for letting them take her so easily. She took a deep breath as Mike waited. Might as well get it over with.

“They came in the middle of the night. Roger opened the door. They shot him right away.” She swallowed. “I don’t suppose they viewed me as much of a threat. They didn’t look like they knew what the hell they were doing, so I convinced them I could help. Told them I was an Arctic survival expert.”

“You always thought quick on your feet.”

The small compliment, the acknowledgment of her abilities, felt ridiculously good. Especially since she’d been beating herself into the ground over what she had and hadn’t done, for not being able to save Roger.

Mike was moving around, but she couldn’t see what he was doing. Probably just settling in.

“Did they hurt you?” His fingers brushed against her bruised cheek, but withdrew almost immediately.

“I tried to get away and fell down the steps, banged my head against the side of the trailer. My feet were bound,” she told him, hating to admit her failure.

He said nothing for a while, until she thought he might have fallen asleep.

“They were coming from the direction of the pipeline instead of going toward it,” he spoke up suddenly. “But they still had the explosives. Doesn’t make any sense.”

“Pipeline? We weren’t anywhere near the pipeline.”

“Exactly.” He paused. “I came across some classified information. Supposedly, those men are in some radical environmentalist group. A few miles of the pipeline are shut down for repair. They were looking to blow it up.”

“Nothing was said about that. They were definitely heading home. They sounded pretty happy about their mission. The only glitch was, the plane that was supposed to pick them up went down in the mountains in that storm five days ago.”

“Odd. Lift up a corner of this cover for a second, would you?”

She slid over and did so on the opposite side from where the wind was blowing, letting in some light. Mike already had his knife in hand, going at the crate. She propped the opening with a rifle and went to help him. “TNT?”

“That’s my best guess.”

The wood protested loudly, but after a few seconds the lid popped off. Mike picked through layers of padding before the smooth sheen of metal became visible. His hands stilled.

She didn’t have to have the symbol of yellow triangles explained to her.

Far more disturbing than a pile of explosives, the crate they cradled between them housed a small nuclear warhead.

Chapter Two

“Something tells me those guys are not ticked-off environmentalists.” Mike swore as he put the crate’s lid back on. This changed everything.

Snow swirled into the tent, but he barely saw it. Did the CIA know about this? A number of things made perfect sense suddenly. Did the Colonel know?

“Weapons dealers?” Tessa went to check on Sasha.

Apparently satisfied with the dog’s condition, she removed the propped rifle and let the cover drop, shrouding them in darkness once again, closing off the cold that had been pouring in.

“It’s ours.” He stared in the direction of the warhead, although he could no longer see the crate. “I’m guessing the American half of the group was selling it to the Russians, then the plane crashed and they got stuck here. How did they get to you?”

“Snowmobiles. They were just about out of gas.”

“What I want to know is, where the hell did they get the warheads?”

The wind whistled down the plain, shaking their flimsy shelter, but enough snow had fallen to have buried the edges and keep them frozen in place. He bounced the furs on top to shake off accumulation, to avoid the “roof” collapsing on them. A few tears here and there in the stitching allowed for air. They wouldn’t suffocate as long as they didn’t let the snow completely bury them.

“Where did you get this old thing?” He ran his fingers over the coarse fur.

“From the Inupiat.”

“Close by?”

“About fifty miles west. But they’ve already gone to their winter camp.”

“What were you two still doing here?”

“We had a plane pick up scheduled for…” She thought for a moment. “Yesterday. Since we were planning on flying out, we didn’t have to worry about an early snowfall closing Black Horse Pass.”

“As best as I can remember the map, the nearest town should be about a hundred miles south?”

“On the other side of the foothills. We couldn’t take the sled.”

“How are your dogs at hunting?”

“That’s not what they were trained for, but I suppose once they get hungry enough their instincts will kick in.”

“I can carry Sasha, maybe make her a travois.” The dog should be able to walk some, the wound wasn’t that bad, but there was no way she could keep up with the others over long distances.

“There’s a permanent Inupiat village about sixty miles northwest. We can make it there on the sled and wait for the rescue team. They’ll have an easier time finding that than spotting us among the snowdrifts or in the woods.”

Sixty miles. A hell of a lot closer than the town to the south. Still. “I hate the thought of going farther north. Any polar bears around here?”

“They’d be closer to the coast. If we come across any surprises, we have good guns.”

She sounded calm and confident, reminding him of the jams they had fought themselves out of together. And that, of course, reminded him of the steamy nights they’d spent in each other’s arms.

“So what are the chances of us picking up where we left off?”

He heard her swallow.

“We left off with you drunk and a half-naked woman in your hotel room.”

“Before that?”

“You mean when you got me kicked out of Special Forces training and destroyed my dreams?”

“I’m not going to apologize for saving your life.”

She was too stubborn to admit that she would not have made it through the obstacle course in the Florida Everglades, but he remembered the day in crystal-clear detail. He could be stubborn, too. Was he not a Scotsman by blood? She had scared ten years off his life.

She’d been sick with fever and weak from bleeding, hanging on to life by a thread after she’d fought off an alligator. She’d lain half under the beast without moving when he’d found her, and he had thought for a moment that she was dead. Turned out she’d just been collecting her strength to push off the gator. She’d had a badly broken collarbone, her body covered in bruises and cuts, some of which looked infected.

The sight of her had made him forget the test, the only thought in his mind to get her to medical help, to get her to safety. At the end, he’d gotten a special commendation for saving a teammate, while she’d gotten the boot. She had failed the course and lost her chance with Special Forces. When she’d been released from the hospital four days later, still steamed at him, he had made things worse by being drunk.

She had left, and obviously she had moved on.

He sure as hell hadn’t pictured that during the lonely nights he’d spent thinking about her. He’d pictured her waiting, regretting her rash actions. Mostly, he’d pictured their reunion in detail. It hadn’t looked anything like this.

He had deluded himself into thinking their breakup was temporary, that she would come back or that, if she didn’t, he would go after her and charm her back to him. But he’d barely been in the country in the past few years. The odd week here and there he’d spent tracking her down as she’d moved around, and by the time he’d found her, it was time to leave again, without a chance to actually contact her.

He had never for a moment figured that by the time they hooked up again, it would be too late.

“Listen, about the women… They were there for Shorty.” And he’d trounced Shorty good afterward for his role in the breakup, before he realized it wasn’t Shorty’s fault. He had the right to whatever entertainment he chose. Mike was the stupid idiot who’d thought his worries for Tessa would be best drowned on the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

“I swear to God,” he said. “We went out with the guys and I drank a little too much. I was worried about you. I went back to the room and passed out. I woke up five seconds before you came in. Shorty must have brought the girls back. Can you believe he’s married now?” He tried to change the subject. “Caught in the net. Never thought I’d see that happen.”

She didn’t look amused.

“I’m telling you the truth. I’ve been telling you the truth from the beginning.”

“I didn’t believe you then, and I don’t believe you now.” The steel in her voice told him she had made up her mind a long time ago.

Frustration pumped up his volume. “That’s your problem, babe. Maybe if you trusted me more we would have lasted.”

HIS WORDS HUNG in the musky air of the tent. Tessa wrapped her arms around herself. This couldn’t be real.

He couldn’t be here. She was dreaming. The pain she had gone through after she’d left Mike three years ago, the long months she’d spent miserable without him, on the verge of going back and forgiving everything against all reason—she couldn’t have made it through all that for nothing. She couldn’t go back there. She had enough need for self-preservation to save herself, didn’t she?

“If the weather doesn’t hold us up too long, we can be a third of the way to the village by tonight. Starting out at first light, we’ll definitely make it by noon tomorrow, the latest,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice, glad for the darkness that hid her face.

“That eager to get rid of me, huh?”

He didn’t know the half of it. Because as much as she had convinced herself over the past couple of years that she was over him, his reappearance in her life made one thing Alaskan-air clear: she wasn’t even close.

“We weren’t good together then, we wouldn’t be good together now. Nothing’s changed.”

The wind picked up and roared like a grizzly bear. Winter was coming. The faster they were out of here, the better—for a multitude of reasons.

“How can you say that?” Anger laced his voice. “We were great together. You left me the first time everything didn’t come off perfect.”

The accusation hurt.

Everything about Mike McNair hurt. It wasn’t right. Love shouldn’t be this painful. And she wasn’t even in love with him anymore; the part of her heart that had held him once had been beaten numb.

They sat in silence until the wind stopped outside. She pulled up a corner of their cover, struggling with the weight of the fallen snow. “Better get moving.” She looked out, holding her breath against the biting cold that met her. It wasn’t snowing anymore, the wind had pushed the clouds to the east. The sun was low on the horizon, as always this time of the year, even at noon. They had about two hours of daylight left—still enough time to make some progress before they hunkered down for the night.

She propped up the opening and moved over to the dogs. “How are you doing, Sasha?” She scratched behind the dog’s ears and under her chin, smiling when Sasha licked her hands.

The rest of the huskies got up and came for their share. “All right Blackie. No need to be jealous.”

She took a minute or two to make sure each got some attention. She would be requiring a lot from them, with no guarantee for their safety or even dinner when they stopped for the night.

“Ready?” She glanced at Mike, who was doing his best to bond with the few curious huskies that went to check him out.

She trudged outside into snow that was a foot higher—three feet on the wind side where it was piled up against their shelter in a snowdrift. The dogs followed her without having to be told, jumping in the freshly fallen snow that would make sledding difficult until it froze hard enough to go on top of it instead of having to struggle through the loose mess. Snowshoes would have worked better on something like this. But even if they had them, they couldn’t leave the dogs and the crate behind.

She harnessed the huskies while Mike wrestled the fur cover from the snow and put it back on the sled. He made a bed from it for Sasha and put her in the middle. Sasha protested halfheartedly, wanting to jump off, but in the end, decided to obey his command.

“I’ll walk for a while,” he said.

“Haa!” She set the dogs into motion without getting on the back runners, giving them a break.

She ran alongside the sled, behind Mike. They couldn’t keep it up for long, but every little bit counted. The easier they were on the dogs, the longer they would be able to pull. Now that Sasha was out, the rest had to compensate.

The silence was like a wall around them, a solid presence, broken by nothing but the sounds of the sled, their feet on the snow, their breath that came harsher as they went on. Alders and spruce covered the gently elevating hillsides to the south of them, open snowfields as flat as an ice rink ahead to the northwest, the way they were headed.

The beauty of the untouched landscape was overwhelming, humbling. It calmed her, helped her to center herself, to focus, the edginess of the close quarters of the shelter leaving her, her lungs filling with fresh air.

A wolf howled in the forest behind them, and the dogs picked up their heads. Blackie, the lead husky, pointed his nose to the sky and answered.

The snow came to the dogs’ bellies, and they were struggling, their progress slow. They covered miles that way before the going got easier and she finally got up on the back runners. Mike squeezed on the sled next to Sasha, facing the dog team. She didn’t realize that he was on the phone again until she heard him talking.

“Mike McDonald here. I’m ready to be picked up. I’m heading to an Inupiat village about two hundred miles northeast from where you dropped me off.”

“Povongjuag,” she said, and he repeated it.

“Whatever the price, man. Name it.” He listened for a while before swearing and closing the phone.

He turned to her with a dark expression. “The pilot who dropped me off can’t pick us up. This whole area has been declared restricted airspace.”

Considering the nuclear warheads, that didn’t seem unreasonable. Except— “Aren’t you working for whomever declared the restriction? Why wouldn’t they send a chopper for you?”

He swore again. “I chartered a private plane.”

“You’re here without authorization, aren’t you?” God, she was stupid for not having figured it out before. But there had been too much other stuff to think about. His being alone made sense now. She had expected more of a SWAT style rescue if anyone came for her, but being saved suddenly and seeing Mike of all people had thrown her for a loop and she’d forgotten to question the odd details.

“Authorization or not, they’ll still come and get you if you ask for it.”

“The Colonel is going to fry my ass for this one.” He dialed again. “McNair.”

He was silent for a long time, his face closed. Apparently, his colonel had a lot to say to him. Judging by his expression, none of it was good.

“I would appreciate some help on this one, Colonel.” Another pause.

“There is one man I trust over there, an old buddy of mine. Tommy Cattaro. If you can get in touch with him—”

Another long silence.

“Yes, Colonel. Povongjuag. It’s an Inupiat village. We should be there sometime tomorrow. I could use a secure phone. There are a couple of things I need to debrief you on.”

He listened again. “No, Colonel.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

“That was not my intention, sir.”

“Is there an official rescue team?” she asked when he hung up.

“Somewhere, I suppose. The CIA is handling the case.”

“Is that where Shorty is now?” Tommy Cattaro, aka Shorty, wasn’t on the top of her favorites list, but if he could get them out of here, she’d make nice with him.

“We went over from Special Forces together. We worked a few cases on the same team before I got recruited to—someplace else,” he said. “Nobody but the agency is allowed in on this one. That’s why I had to go AWOL from my own unit. What would you have wanted me to do? I couldn’t sit around waiting for—”

“AWOL? Are you crazy?” She stared at him.

He looked her in the eye. “You know how you used to blame me for not making it into Special Forces?” He blinked. “Consider us even.”

She had trouble digesting the information. He had put everything on the line for her. She didn’t know what to do with that thought, where to fit that knowledge. If he still cared that much for her— No. She wasn’t going down that road ever again.

“So where did you go AWOL from?” The best way to stop him from getting to her was to keep him on his toes about his own business.

“We’re going to have to go around that.” He pointed at the forest of alders and spruce in front of them that reached like a finger into the frozen landscape to the north.

He was ignoring her question. She’d pretty much expected him to do just that. There was nothing she could do to make the man talk, if he didn’t want to.

“Gee!” She turned the dogs to the right when they were still a good fifty yards from the trees, taking advantage of both the flat terrain and the windbreak the woods provided.

Ten minutes passed, then half an hour. She was thirsty, but not enough to stop and melt snow. Night would fall soon; darkness came by 3:00 p.m. this time of the year. They would have to stop and make camp, anyway. Had the cloud cover not built back up, the snow would have reflected enough moonlight to go by, but that was not the case.

Mike pushed off his hood and turned his head to the sky.

She did the same and heard the helicopter, slowed the dogs, fired her gun and waited. Sound carried incredible distances in the silence of the snowfields. The rumbling of the chopper weakened. Damn. The rescue team was heading away from them. Then the sound picked up again. The helicopter came over the top of the trees in a couple of minutes.

Mike was already on his feet, waving.

The Apache—CIA logo on the side—lowered between them and the trees, the noise scaring the dogs. She brought the sled to a complete halt and got off, followed Mike who was already running forward. She would have to ask the pilot to turn off the rotors or she’d never get the huskies on.

The chopper hovered in place. Mike was slowing in front of her, held up his hand as if in warning. She knew how to approach a landing helicopter, for heaven’s sake. The training they’d received together hadn’t been that long ago. She ignored him.

Snow swirled around them as the chopper’s blades stirred up the air. She put her head down and stopped, waiting for the bird to set down. The bullets that hit around her took her by surprise.

What on earth? She threw herself to the snow and looked around. Did the gun smugglers catch up? She glanced up, expecting to see the chopper covering them, but instead, the man she spotted in the open door was aiming at Mike.

Nobody else on the ground, but them. No smugglers. She scanned the area behind her. They were clearly the ones under attack from the CIA chopper.

It didn’t make any sense. This was supposed to be the rescue team. Mike had called in their location.

He seemed to have recovered from his surprise before she did and was shooting back, making the bird pull up sharply and bank to the right. Then her training and instincts finally kicked in and she sprinted for the woods.

She stopped halfway there, hesitated, looked back to the dogs. She’d left her rifle on the sled. If she could get that and the huskies… Mike was running, too, twisting now and then to squeeze off another shot, jumping over piles of snow as he went.

“Come on!” he shouted as he passed her.

They were close to the woods, twenty yards, ten, there. They didn’t stop for a while, spurred on by bullets hitting the trees behind them.

After a minute or two, the shooting stopped.

“We have to go back and get the dogs.” She was breathing so hard, she had to bend over. Sitting in a research trailer month after month, doing nothing but data analysis, had softened her.

“They’re not interested in the dogs. They made it plenty clear that they want us.”

“What’s going on?”

“Damned if I know.” Mike ducked behind a boulder and leaned against it, making room for her. He pulled the phone from his pocket, but it rang before he could dial.

“We’re under attack.”

He listened and swore alternatively, then after a couple of minutes held the cell phone away from his ear and shook it, pushed some buttons, listened again, slammed it into the snow. “Battery is dead.”

“Extreme cold will do that. What did you find out?”

“It’s classified.”

“Like hell it is.” She wanted to shake him. “Tell that to someone whose ass is not getting shot up by our own government. I already saw the warhead, Mike.”

“I don’t know everything.”

“Give me what you have.”

He still had the gall to think about it before he finally nodded. “Apparently, a cache of warheads near where your research station was parked was broken into.”

“There are no military installations anywhere around here. Roger and I have been through the area a hundred times.” She tried to think of anything that looked even remotely suspicious, but there had been no manmade structures at all, just open snowfields.