Shadow Play (21 page)

She wasn't going to be able to persuade him, and it was scaring her to death. “Don't do this, Joe. Dammit, if you don't care about the risk to yourself, think about what you're doing to me. How do you think I'll feel knowing it will be my fault if anything happens to you?”

“I'll just have to make sure nothing does.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Stop trying to give me a guilt trip. Because you're right, everything that happens to me is because of you. I chose that path a long time ago, and I wouldn't have it any other way.” He turned away. “But it's always my choice, Eve.”

“We were only supposed to explore the possibilities,” she said desperately.

“That's what we're doing. You stay here and keep an eye on that reconstruction and any move from Walsh.” He handed her the binoculars. “If you can manage to kill the bastard, that would be fine, too. I'll go and explore the possibility of stealing Jenny away from him.”

“It's only a skull, Joe. Jenny is dead.”

He slanted her a smile over his shoulder. “Not to you, love.”

He disappeared into the trees.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Her nails bit into her palms as she stared blindly into the pines.

She wanted to run after him. She wanted to shout and pound her hands on the ground.

What good would that do? Only an exercise in frustration. Once Joe made up his mind, he wouldn't budge. All she could do was stay here in an agony of desperation and try to help however she could. Which meant do what Joe had said and watch and wait until she had an opportunity to move more actively.

If you can kill the bastard, that would be fine, too.

Yes, it would, and she had no doubt she would do it if given the opportunity, she thought fiercely. She hated violence, but Walsh was a monster, and that monster was a threat to Joe. Her hand instinctively closed on her gun. Then she forced herself to release it.

She wouldn't be able to do anything to help unless she located Walsh. Joe was vulnerable, and so was she as long as Walsh was hovering over them like a threatening cloud.

Find him.

Neutralize.

Or destroy.

Find.

Joe had said either that clump of boulders or the pine trees on the slope.

Find out which one.

She started to move slowly toward the boulders.

*   *   *

Joe moved through the foliage, bending and contorting his body almost as if by instinct. His SEAL combat training taught him to move stealthily. The brush around him barely moved as he made his way up the steep hill.

He glanced back. Eve hadn't been happy to be left behind, and knowing her, she was already taking a position to give him cover. He'd practically given her marching orders by pointing out the boulders and the row of young pines, but there were actually a half dozen other places where Walsh could be hiding.

Let me handle this, Eve. It's what I do.

And he couldn't deny the hunt was stirring all the adrenaline and excitement that it always did.

He half smiled as his pace increased. What was he thinking? Eve was going to do whatever the hell she wanted. Exasperating, yes, but also why he loved her so damn much.

Okay, Eve. That's how we'll play it. You've got my back, and I've got yours, just like always.

With certain limits …

He crouched and looked up at the reconstructed skull in the distance. He'd seen literally hundreds of Eve's reconstructions, but there was something so luminous, so lifelike, about this one that it gave him an eerie feeling to see the disembodied head apparently floating over the hillside.

We're coming to get you, Jenny. Eve wants to bring you home.

Joe glanced around as he slowly pushed ahead. Someone had been on this path. Recently. Leaves had been freshly torn from bushes, and several branches were bent away from the others. It had clearly been a one-way journey toward the plateau but not back. He'd have to be careful; that could be a sign of possible—

Sproing.

Joe froze. The sound was almost imperceptible but unmistakable.

He looked down and saw, beneath his left foot, a familiar, oval-shaped outline.

Shit.

He'd just stepped on the triggering pedal of a Dieter land mine.

Great. Just great.

He remembered “skill with explosives” had been on Walsh's résumé that he'd been sent by Interpol. Evidently the bastard had made careful preparations for his trap.

The triggering device had been buried on the trail. Now, if he lifted his foot, he'd be blown to bits.

There was movement up ahead, in the brush. Dammit. He was a sitting duck.

The movements drew closer. Joe crouched, keeping his foot planted squarely on the triggering pedal. He drew his Winkler field knife from its sheaf and angled himself toward the sound.

Come and get me, you sick son of a bitch. I'll be ready for whatever you're dishing out.

*   *   *

Not at the boulders.

Her heart was pounding as she drew back from the moss-covered rocks and moved back toward the road.

But that didn't mean that he might not have been there and moved on.

It didn't mean that he couldn't be anywhere in the darkness.

She jumped as her phone vibrated.

Walsh.

“Where are you, Eve?” he asked mockingly. “You've been too quiet. Did I discourage you? I have to admit that it's a challenge that would intimidate most people.”

“It's a trap, not a challenge. We both know that.” She paused. “And neither Joe nor I are foolish enough to walk into it. Did you really believe we would?”

“Oh, yes. I still believe it. Why do you think I arranged the bait with such care? I had to make sure you could see all the fine details you'd installed in that reconstruction. Such a pity to have it blown to bits and sunk into that icy water. What do you think the chances are that you'd ever be able to retrieve it?”

“Science is a wonderful thing. There's a possibility.”

“You're bluffing. You haven't given up. You're probably frantically plotting with your lover about how you're going to manage to get the best of me.” He added softly, “I'll give you another forty-five minutes to study your handiwork and decide whether you're going to make a try at it. After that, I'm done. I'll destroy it as I intended to do in the beginning.”

“And why didn't you do that, Walsh?”

Silence. “I didn't get around to it.”

“Really? Then maybe it was fate,” she said mockingly. “Maybe you were never meant to have it. You don't seem to have handled it very professionally since the moment you killed that poor FedEx driver in Georgia.”

“That's a lie,” he said harshly. “There's no one more professional than I am. I tell you, I just didn't get around to it.” He changed the subject. “Forty-five minutes, and you'll see all your work vanish as if it had never been.” He hung up.

Forty-five minutes.

She almost wished that Walsh would destroy the skull now.

If Joe heard the shot, then he'd know there was no reason to go after that reconstruction. He would be safe.

But she couldn't rely on wishes. Don't think about what Joe was doing.

Think about what she could do to make him safer.

She quickly dialed Nalchek. “I need your help.” She quickly gave him the location. “Walsh is here. I don't know how much time we have.”

“Not my jurisdiction. I'll have to—”

“I don't care. Get someone up here.” She hung up.

Now find Walsh.

*   *   *

Joe cocked his head, listening for the rustling brush. The sounds had stopped. Whatever or whoever it was was only fifteen feet away, maybe twenty. Had he been spotted?

Doubtful.

But he couldn't stay here, that was for sure. The bomb beneath his left foot clearly put him at a serious tactical disadvantage.

Understatement.

He looked down at the half-buried mine. He knew what he had to do, but it wasn't going to be easy. Shit.

He jabbed his knife into the ground beside him and grabbed the short blade from his ankle scabbard. He'd been taught a trick that might work, but, of course, his teacher had been missing his right arm and half his face, Joe remembered ruefully. From a mine a hell of a lot less powerful than this one.

Joe thrust his hand into the soft earth and moved his fingers underneath the mine. He stretched his thumb over the top triggering pedal and gripped its muddy surface next to his boot. It was slick and wet, and the spring pushed against his clenched fingers.

One slip, and he was a dead man.

Joe slowly, carefully raised his foot, eyeing the triggering pedal to make sure that it remained in place beneath his thumb.

His foot was free. Now for the tricky part.

He pulled the mine from the damp earth, wincing as his thumb slid over the slippery pedal. He looked at the mine for a moment, keeping it at arm's length from his face. As if that would help if it exploded. The temptation was strong to just throw the damned thing, but there would be only a second between release and the deadly blast.

And it was probably how his old instructor had lost half his face. No, he had to take care of this another way. Joe slowly turned over the mud-encrusted explosive device and looked at its underside. The top half fit cleanly over the bottom, almost like an oval-shaped shell. A thin ridge separated the two parts, a ridge just wide enough for …

Joe looked at the short blade in his left hand. It
seemed
about right. He'd know soon enough.

He slowly loosened his grip on the mine. The spring-tensioned top half rose slightly …

He stopped. Hopefully, the thicker part of his blade would catch and keep it from rising any more. He probably had only a few more millimeters to play with.

He loosened his grip even more.

It didn't move. The wedge was holding.

He held his breath.

So far, so good. Here goes nothing …

One … two … three!

He let go.

And the pedal held in place.

He let out his breath. He cradled the mine in both hands. He bent over and carefully, gently, placed it on a large rock.

He backed away and moved toward a denser area of brush. Climbing would be harder this way, but less likely to yield another nasty surprise.

He wiped his brow and realized that his face and hair were soaked with perspiration. As he slid through the brush, he looked up at the reconstructed skull, still glowing in the lights trained on it. What other traps did Walsh have waiting for him up there? It wouldn't take much, of course. A rifle scope and a decent perch would do the trick. But the psycho had also shown an affinity for explosive booby traps.

So … How to get that reconstruction without getting shot or blown up?

Joe stopped. There might be one way to pull it off.

He shrugged off his backpack, unzipped it, and pulled out a thin, plastic bag. He tore into the bag and unfolded a six-by-six piece of mosquito netting. Joe pulled it taut between his hands. Thin, light, and reasonably strong. He put it on the ground and surveyed the trees around him. He unsheathed his knife and sliced off two thin branches, each about eight feet long. After a quick pruning, he attached the netting between the branches with wire from his backpack.

He held the two branches in his hands and practiced twisting and turning them for a moment. Not the most ideal contraption, but it could work.

He unholstered his gun and turned toward the reconstructed skull on the hillside. He'd have to get as close to it as he could while still maintaining a line of sight to the rock with the rigged land mine. This would require a near-perfect aim and split-second timing.

And a little bit of luck.

 

CHAPTER

10

Eve crouched low as she moved through the bushes, muttering a curse as every step crunched and crackled. If only she could move through the woods as silently as Joe. With all the racket she was making, how could Walsh
not
know she was coming?

She stopped, looking up at the reconstruction. Where would Walsh go to keep watch over his prize? Her eyes darted around the area. If it were she, where would she go? She looked up.

Of course.

A tree.

But which one? There were hundreds. Thousands. But she could immediately discount many of the smaller trees, and the ones without low-hanging branches to provide an easy foothold for climbing.

That still left a sizeable—

Boom.

An explosion rocked the woods, just a hundred yards west of her.

Joe!

Her head jerked toward the blast, which momentarily lit up the night sky. Oh God, Joe had been heading in that direction. Had he run straight into Walsh's trap?

Maybe not, she prayed. There was a chance—

She had turned back toward the reconstructed skull.

The skull was gone!

It was like some kind of magic trick. It had been there just moments before, and now the two battery lanterns were aimed at …

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

She smiled.

Joe.

*   *   *

Walsh stared in disbelief at the spot where the skull had just been. The land-mine explosion had practically knocked him out of the tree, and by the time he recovered, Eve's reconstruction had vanished.

There were two paths up there, and he'd secured both with explosive booby traps. And if anyone tried another route to the skull, he was ready with his rifle.

Except in the few moments after the land mine exploded behind him. Dammit. Had Eve or Quinn used his own explosive as a distraction?

Very clever, but it wouldn't make any difference. Eve Duncan wasn't leaving this forest alive.

Walsh slung his rifle over his shoulder, and he jumped to the ground.

*   *   *

Success!