Page 25 of Enemy Within
Rolling away, Sasha waited for another shot, holding his breath. Had he done it?
He got to his feet slowly and saw the last of the soldiers go down, bleeding out on the snow. Kilaqqi was shouting to his men, rounding them up and taking their faces in his hands and looking into their eyes one by one.
Sasha ran across the snow, skirting the broken pieces of helicopter and the burning fuel. He kept his eyes on the man half-buried in the snow trench, the dark smudge of his body barely visible. Red spread through the snow beneath him, a stain that kept growing.
When he got there, he heard the man’s rasping breaths. Dropping to his knees, Sasha hauled him from the snow trench and rolled him over.
His shot had pierced the man’s shoulder. Blood drenched the snow on his front and back.
Dark, hateful eyes glared up at Sasha. Blood-flecked lips spat, lobbing a wad of spit into his face.
A long, thin scar curved down the man’s face. On his black jacket, PALOSHENKO was stitched in white thread next to his officer rank.
It was him. The lieutenant.
Part of Sasha wanted to bury Paloshenko’s face in the snow, smother him to death in the winter wasteland he’d hunted Sasha through. Force him to choke on frigid fear and emptiness. Or he could put a bullet in his brain, end it quickly.
Kilaqqi’s shout made Sasha turn, though.
Riders approached, men doubled up on snowmobiles and waving automatic rifles in the air. Shots pierced the air, longratatatatsthat spoke of the men’s lack of training. These were not soldiers. These were thugs, bandits with weapons coming out of their ears. The riders broke into two groups, each circling to one side of the crash and penning them in the center.
He grabbed his rifle and ran to Kilaqqi’s side, leaving Paloshenko to bleed. “What now?”
“I thought you would know.” Kilaqqi stared at him serenely, as if they hadn’t just downed a helicopter and killed a troop ofSpetsnazforces. Blood was smeared across his cheek and chin.
“I do not know who these men are.” The hum and rumble of the snowmobiles grew, a high-pitched whine as they revved their engines and closed their circle around Sasha and Kilaqqi’s men, like a snake constricting around its prey. Sasha whirled, spinning as fast as he could, his rifle raised, but there were too many men and snowmobiles zooming by. Snow arced from their treads, spraying in Sasha’s face.
“These men we cannot fight.”
Sasha whipped around, staring at Kilaqqi, his jaw hanging open.
“There are too many.” Kilaqqi tossed his rifle to the snow and raised his hands. “And I have already lost enough men today.” Scattered among the bodies of the troopers, some of Kilaqqi’s herdsmen lay broken and bled out.
“I will fight,” Sasha snarled. Turning, he raised his rifle and took aim.
A deep voice laughed behind him. Whirling, he saw one of the new arrivals had already crept up on him. Standing over Sasha, bulky and heavyset, the man wore a thick snow jacket and a full-face balaclava.
Before Sasha could swing his rifle around, the man slammed the butt of his own weapon into Sasha’s stomach, and then his face. Bones crunched, and the world went black before he hit the snow.
11
Seattle
JESUS, CUSTOMS TOOK FOREVER.
Sighing again, Doc switched his bag from his right shoulder to his left and crossed his arms. A family of five was making a mess of their entry to the US. One kid had drawn on the immigration form. Another was crying about their juice box. Of the three lanes that were open, moving people through customs and into the domestic side of Seattle’s airport, that one had been the fastest.
No more.
Doc regretted his choice in line.
A few lanes over, Coleman, Kobayashi, and Park waited, pretending they didn’t know each other. Wright and Ruiz were to his left, earbuds in their ears and looking bored.
Faisal stood in front of Doc.
Adam stood behind them.
Awkward.
