Miles To Go Part 4

"Where's Smythe?" Baldwin asked.

"He's coming. He came down a little farther out," Levin said.Rennie hadn't gotten to know Levin as well as she had Baldwin and Goode, but she knew him well enough to realize he was about to vomit.

"Jonah, you okay?"

Levin rolled his eyes in annoyance, half-turned and retched up his dinner.

"Why don't you sit down, buddy, and have a drink of water?"

Baldwin said, leaning down to him.

Levin, still hunched over, put out his hand in protest.

"I'm okay. I'm okay. Just the same old s.h.i.t," he said, wiping his mouth.

Though he was the most experienced jumper among them, Levin's stomach often failed him. He was otherwise thoroughly reliable and Rennie liked him, though they hadn't become close.

Maybe, like a lot of the guys, he resented her being there, taking up a spot on the team. But in all honesty, Rennie hadn't made much of an effort to get to know him either. She was never one to reach out.

Smythe joined them, laden with equipment.

"Are we ready for our nap?" He looked straight at Rennie.

This was his new thingeverything seemed to be laced with some kind of s.e.xual subtext whenever he talked to her.

"Let's get set and do our equipment check," Goode said.

"We'll get into the woods and then we can see where we are."

Everyone knelt, sorting and checking their equipment. The original plan had been to fly out of the base in Germany at seven o' clock or 1900 hours on the MC-130E for the three-hour flight to their drop point in Tajikistan. After two hours of flight time, they would begin to pre-breathe one-hundred-percent oxygen to purge the nitrogen from their bloodstream and prevent decompression sickness and, finally, be ready to jump into the abyss at 2200 hours. This would have allowed them to get a couple of miles into the woods, make camp and sleep in shifts for four or five hours before sunrise. But things hadn't worked out that way. A violent thunderstorm grounded their plane and they hadn't been cleared for takeoff till midnight.

Rennie slipped her MP5a small but powerful submachine gun that rested under her left arm during the jumpfrom the sleeve on the ground. She made sure it was in proper working order before sliding it into the specially made pouch behind her backpack. They would be disguised as hikers and as such they had to have their weapons both easily available and easily concealed.

This was accomplished by the large exterior pouch. So, the MP5 sat snugly between her backpack and her spine in its little nest, with sufficient padding for comfort and a side opening for easy accessjust a quick reach behind the ribs and the weapon was in hand.

Baldwin as their best gun had to carry his sniper rifle in addition to his MP5. He checked each piece meticulously to make sure nothing was damaged when he hit the ground and slipped it into a long round padded pouch, lashing it under his pack.Smythe was the team telecommunications specialist. He squatted in front of his rucksack and laid out each piece of equipment. Between them, they had one satellite phone, one GPS and a PDA loaded with a Tajik dictionary and phrase book along with information on the local flora and fauna that might prove useful. None of this, however, would be necessary unless something went wrong.

"s.h.i.t!"

Smythe kneeled in front of the equipment shaking his head.

"What's wrong?" Goode asked, jogging over to him.

"It's the GPS. It busted when I came down," Smythe said angrily.

"Don't worry about it, we're not going to need it," Goode a.s.sured him.

"We better not," Smythe said looking at Rennie.

"Those things don't work half the time anyway," Levin said.

"Of course they do. Our satellite systems ensure that,"

Baldwin said, looking unconcerned.

Baldwin was always the optimist. Rennie figured Goode was right, though. The satellite phone was more important. They would need it if disaster struck.

Rennie rubbed her arms. The warmth of the night had begun to seep through the chill that had sunk into her bones in the upper atmosphereshe'd be glad when they got moving.

Jonah Levin was gathering their jump equipmentthe rigs, the jumpsuits, the helmets, masks, tubes, oxygen canisters and all the rest and stuffing it into the duffel bags that had held everything they would now carry with them on the hike. When Goode a.s.signed duties before they left the U.S., Levin had joked that he was on trash dutythey had no choice but to leave the jump gear behind and it could never be tied to the FBI in any way. So, all jump-related equipment stayed and only the bare essentials for the hike and the mission would go. The farmer who owned the field would eventually stumble across itRennie imagined him scratching his chin and wondering where the h.e.l.l it came from.

Rennie bent down and retied her boots. She wondered if anyone had ever made a HALO jump wearing Timberlands hers had been modified to meet the stability standards required for the jump. The idea that the team would perform this, their first important mission, undercover, had come as a not entirely welcome surprise. The mountains of Tajikistan had drawn adventuresome hikers from around the world for years. Most knew to stay clear of the trouble spots. Occasionally, though, one would find himself someplace he shouldn't be. And this was their coverjust a bunch of stupid hikers who didn't have a clue they were edging up on a terrorist training camp. The essence of their cover was twofoldfirst, to draw as little attention as possible and secondly, and most importantly, to get themselves out. This was not going to be a scenario where they ran out of the woods and a chopper would be waiting for them. No, the U.S. didn't have a friendly base near enough to launch an extraction operation.

They would have to walk out.

Goode was staring at his maps, looking thoughtful. Rennie wondered what was on his mind. She knew he was stressed that they had lost so much time. Goode was the oldest and most experienced special agent. He had spent ten years in the New York City officemaybe the toughest a.s.signment in the countryand had seen everything there was to be seen. When he was a.s.signed the leadership position, right after Smythe replaced Perez, he had immediately taken the reins of the young team firmly in hand. He made a point of getting to know each of them and had done his best to cool the tension between Rennie and Smythe.

Everyone had their packs on now and stood waiting for orders, looking as much like ordinary hikers as such a group could. Goode finally put his map away and joined them. He looked at his watch and took a deep breath.

"It's nearly zero three thirty now. We lost a lot of time due to the storm."

Rennie knew what was coming.

"By the time we get deep enough into the woods to bed down, we'll only have about two hours of sleep before sunrise.

I think that's a waste of time. So, let's push through tonight and we'll all have a good sleep tomorrow night."

Rennie knew Goode wasn't happy to be delivering this news and from their stony expressions, the team wasn't too glad to receive it either. But they accepted it.

"Hooah, boss," Levin said quietly and without enthusiasm, but with a big grin. It was an old, ironic joke between them, an allusion to the pumped-up enthusiasm so often stereotyped in movie portrayals of special forces or the military. Their team had a reputation for being unusually laid-back.

"Okay, let's move out," Goode said.

Rennie shifted her pack on her shoulders until it was in a comfortable position. She felt good. The field was damp from the night but it hadn't rained in at least a couple of days, so it wasn't mucky and walking was easy. She loved night work, she always seemed to be at her best after the sun set, but she was worried about Goode's decision not to take any rest. This was no training mission. This was the real deal and they all had to be in top form.

Ending a man's life on orders was not the most comforting proposition Rennie had ever encountered and she wasn't certain 0.

how to feel about it. She knew that on some level she hadn't taken it in entirely, hadn't allowed it to absorb into that part of herself that mattered, the part that made choices about how to live a good life in the world. Of course she'd considered when she decided to try out for CT3 that she might have to end a life.

That it was even a likelihood. But a.s.sa.s.sination left a bad taste in her mouth. It was an acknowledgment that her country had exhausted all other possibilities and could no longer afford to play fair.

They were almost at the edge of the woods. Goode stopped and waited for the team to gather around.

"Okay, we go in single file, people. Keep your wits about you.

We don't expect to have any company this far out, but you never know. G.o.dspeed."

They all touched fists and filed into the coal black forest.

The woods were dense and the lights from the village were immediately snuffed out. Goode and Smythe led. Rennie fell into rhythm behind Levin. Baldwin brought up the rear. They were keeping a good pace. Rennie took a deep breath. The woods smelled organic and lush. The temperature was just right for a hike. It was fortunate that the terrain was mostly level, because it was very dark, the moonlight barely penetrating the thick canopy of leaves. Her senses were on full alert as she concentrated on each step. Every twig that snapped beneath their feet reverberated through the forest and through her nerves as they made their way through the black night ever closer to Armin and the mission they came so far to complete.

CHAPTER FIVE.

They weren't making good time. Goode knew his decision to push through the night without rest was the right one. The woods were more dense than he had hoped. They needed to find one of the many paths he knew inevitably existed and would ease their way. At least the ground was mostly flat. It was the final few miles that would be the worst. From that pointas the aerial photographs showedthe mountain arced upward, at first gently and then, for the final half-mile, a forty-five degree incline up to the camp on the ridge.

But here and now, they struggled, picking their way over vines and rocks and fallen trees, through seemingly virgin woods.

It would be dawn in an hour or so. Then they would stop, eat breakfast and rest for a few minutes.

Goode felt a little weary already. As the old man of the group, he had more than his share of aches and pains, but he wasn't about to let them slow him down.

He wondered how Vogel was doing and felt guilty for it. He never treated her differently from the others and believed she had rightly earned her place on the team. But a part of him looked out for her with more care than for the men. He turned his head and caught her eye. She looked strong and focused.

He thought of his wife then, alone in their apartment near Central Park. At least he hoped she was alone. She hadn't made the move with him to Virginia, kept saying she was looking for a job in D.C. But she hadn't done anything about it. During their last conversation before he flew to Germany, he wanted to ask whether all of this added up to a kind of unspoken separation.

But he knew he couldn't handle the answer if it didn't turn out to be the one he wanted. Not now. He would confront it when he got back.

Struggling through the dark woods made him think too much.

He missed New York. He hadn't grown up there, but it had come to feel like his hometown. He and his wife always went out for sushi every Friday. A Midwestern boy, eating raw fishhe had to shake his head. He'd changed a lot since leaving Indiana. The FBI had changed him. Growing up he had wanted nothing more than to get out of Muncie. As far away as he could. And now here he was, picking his way through the woods in a country he had never even heard of before switching majors from psychology to international politics in college.

It was finally getting light. The warmth of the night was already pa.s.sing into the heat of the day. Goode wiped a thin sheen of sweat from his upper lip. Just ahead was a turbid streambed, almost completely dried upthey wouldn't be getting any water from there.

"Let's break after we cross here."

"Sounds good to me," Smythe said.

"We can have a bite to eat and rest our weary bones for a half an hour," Goode said as he slowed and stepped carefully from rock to rock. "Careful here, people, a few of these are slimy," he called out in a low voice.

"Aren't you going to lay out the red carpet for us, boss?"

Levin said.

"Sure thing, I'll get right on it." Goode liked to keep things easy, it kept the team on an even keel.

As Levin was about midway across the streambed, he slipped and one foot went deep into the sludge to the ankle.

"s.h.i.t!" he said, almost falling in completely as he tried to shake the slime from his boot.

"See what you get for being such a smart-a.s.s, Jonah," Baldwin said from behind.

Goode patted Levin on the shoulder when he finally stepped onto solid ground. "Poor Jonah. It's always something, isn't it?"

Levin had no luck. Baldwin always said he was being punished for denying his ancestry. Levin had been adopted by an older Jewish couple from a Jewish orphanage, but he liked to relate an odd fantasy of his parentage. He speculated that a couple of WASPy kids got themselves into trouble and decided to leave the baby on the doorstep of the Jewish orphanage.

"So Levin, why would a couple of rich Protestants want their kid to be raised by Jews?" Smythe asked as he plopped down on the ground.

"Because like all good WASPs, they believe in the Jewish elite, and they thought, at least their boy will have a good education."

"You went to Harvard didn't you, Jonah?" Rennie asked, ripping open her MRE and digging into it hungrily.

"Indeed I did," Levin said, smiling broadly.

"You're so full of s.h.i.t, Levin. You came up with this nonsense just so you can brag about going to Harvard," Smythe interjected.

"You know, Jonah, my parents are WASPs and I never heard such vicious stereotypes from them," Baldwin said.

"Your parents aren't WASPs. You're Catholic," Levin said arching his eyebrows dramatically. Levin could find the drama in any situation.

"Okay, well then, I went to school with a lot of WASPs,"

Baldwin said.

"Right. At Catholic school. Lots of WASPs at Catholic school in Philly, huh?" Levin said, looking disgusted with Baldwin.

Goode laughed as he took a small sip from his water bladder, swallowing the last of his chipped beef and gravy. It was always rough going down cold.

"Be careful with your water. We have to have enough till we make it to the river," Goode said. "We can't count on these streams. It's been too dry."

"This is what it's all about isn't it, boss? Pain and suffering,"

Levin said.

"That's right. Pain and suffering and death and taxes. They all get you in the end."

Rennie was thirsty. Everyone had been rationing their water carefully and had about a liter left. Rennie had a little less. It was her weakness. She was always thirsty. A certain amount of dehydration was a certainty on a hike of this length. You just couldn't carry enough water, it would weigh you down too much. The team had trained for this, hiking for days through the Virginia woods with minimal water supplies. She could handle it better than your average person, but the body just doesn't function right without enough hydration. She capped her water bladder before she was tempted to have one more gulp.

She stood, stretching out her arms and back before she strapped on her pack. She could feel the first trace of fatigue settle into her shoulders. The woods took on a different aspect now that it was light. It made her feel exposed. The day ahead of them was daunting. Goode wanted them to cover thirty-five miles. It was doable. Especially if the land stayed level. They only needed to cover a little over two miles an hour, which under normal circ.u.mstances would be easy. But they had all gone without a night's sleep and by day's end would have hiked twenty hours straight. And they would move slower and slower as the day crept on.

Ahead of her, Levin was constantly fiddling with his pack, as if he couldn't get comfortable. She wanted to say to him, Forget about it, comfort is not an option. But the less conversation the better. They needed to stay as quiet as they could.

She had always been good at being quiet. Quiet as a mouse, her father would say to her when she was young. What kind of a mouse?

she'd ask. Why, a church mouse, of course. They were Catholic. She was never one to make the ex-Catholic jokes, but she had gotten out as soon as she'd had the chance. She had known even as a small girl that the faith didn't speak to her. Her loss of faith though in reality she never had ithad been a tragedy to her father. That, and other things.

She fingered the St. Catherine's medallion that hung on a link chain around her neck. Her father, dead of a sudden and ma.s.sive heart attack ten years now, had given it to her on their one and only family vacation. To Montreal. A great city for Catholic tourists. She would never forget when he pressed it firmly into her palm. Carry this with you always, Renee. It will keep you safe.

Her father was often a silly man, but occasionally, when he felt a particular kind of reverence, he spoke like a priest. She had kept it with her, not to keep her safe, but as a memory of her father who had loved her even through his disappointment.

The sun was shining bright and hot now, the morning almost gone. Her tank was damp below her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The river. Already it was all she could think about. She would treat the water and drink her fill. Eating only made her thirst worse without anything to wash it down, but she had to keep up her strength.