Page 126 of Ford

Except,I love you, Ford.

He let the words settle in. Fuel his plans. Of course they would include her kid brother—but also more kids and a house and—

“I don’t see a boat.”

Scarlett’s words brought him to the present, where they stood on a rocky, abandoned shore, staring out into the Caspian Sea. Endlessly blue, waves frothed the shoreline, kicking up spray as the water hit undersea boulders, the shoreline a wasteland of jagged-edged rocks.

He wanted to raise his hand and ask if anyone else thought this might be a crazy idea.

“The freighter is out there—York confirmed with the captain,” RJ said. “Keep looking.”

Apparently, Roy had been sent by York, and the fact that they still hadn’t heard from Ham after missing his contact at the railway station contributed to the knot in Ford’s gut. But he agreed with Roy—the Bratva could be watching the railways.

Roy. The guy had whisked them out of Kazakhstan control so fast they might be royalty. Or diplomats, per their new documents. It occurred to him afresh that RJ knew him, too, and it only set a burr inside Ford that his sister lived a life he knew nothing about.

Probably how she felt about his life, maybe.

Roy had hired a car and taken them to the airport outside the city where they boarded a small Kazakh Air regional plane.

Seven hours later, they’d landed in Aktau, the sun chasing them across the sky to drop into the far horizon. Roy had secured another vehicle and had driven them to a city 150 km north, Bautino, a seaboard town built in a bowl of seagrass, rimmed on every side by cliffs, scrub brush, and pastures. They’d passed more than one herd of camels, horses grazing, and Russian-style homes with red roofs and cement walls on their way to a secluded point just north of the harbor.

Ford didn’t ask why they weren’t taking a ferry, the answer obvious. But a low hum of worry buzzed through him as he stood on the rugged shoreline searching for their ride. The scent of the sea rose—a hint of salt in the air, the briny odor of fish, and the cool lick of a storm gathering in the far west.

“There it is,” Scarlett said, pointing as she held the glasses to her eyes. She had donned his jacket, now dwarfing her. “Just beyond those rocks.” She handed Ford the binoculars.

He found the freighter, a bulky, rusty orange cargo ship anchored just east of an archipelago of islands, maybe five miles offshore. He handed Scarlett the binoculars back and turned to Roy.

“And they’re expecting us.”

“According to York, he was able to stop them, make them wait for you. You have until just after sunset to get aboard—”

“And their destination port?”

“Azerbaijan.”

Ford let the fist in his chest release. “Okay. I know people there. That could work.” He eyed the skiff pulled up onshore, an outboard motor tilted up, a couple ratty life jackets soaking in brine at the bottom of the flat-hulled boat. Maybe ten feet long, it appeared as battered as the plane they’d just taken across the country, held together with glue and prayer.

Ford had practiced—and executed—onboarding procedures hundreds of times, but usually in a Zodiac manned by one of his teammates, or even a SWIK operator who knew how to work with the ebb and flow of the waves, the current that might dash them against the hull of the ship.

He should get back on a plane.

Except, with Ham gone radio silent…

Ford glanced at the black band of clouds hovering to the west. “Let’s get going.” He threw his pack into the boat, then grabbed a line and secured it. Turned to Roy. “You coming?”

“No. But if you need help—” He glanced at RJ. “You know how to find me.”

She nodded. “Thanks, Roy.”

“I never want to see you again.” But then he smiled, winked.

“Me too.”

Ford gripped the boat, and Scarlett came alongside to help him push it from the shoreline. Alarmingly lightweight, it floated free, and he put a hand on it as Scarlett and RJ climbed in. Scarlett picked up a paddle to secure it as he pushed off and climbed in. Ford tied his pack to a line attached to the boat.

Roy watched them for a moment, then turned to climb back up the hill.

Scarlett and RJ paddled them away from shore as Ford let down the motor. Secured it. He pulled the rip cord, but nothing happened.

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