The Killing Game (29 page)

Cullen pointed south to the Boroghill Pass. “He’s running scared.”

Maybe.

They had to follow him ASAP but they couldn’t take Axelle with them and he wouldn’t risk leaving her behind with these people. “Get HQ on the blower. I want a helo here, ASAP, dropping off reinforcements and getting Axelle to safety.” He had a job to do. His heart battered his ribs when she appeared in the doorway of their hut and looked his way. Her eyes were narrowed, mouth pinched, and yet he’d never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

He didn’t want to leave her but he needed her safe.

A subtle vibration lit the air. As one, the troopers cocked their heads and held their weapons higher. The villagers ran back to their huts. He jogged over the dirt courtyard and caught Axelle’s hand and dragged her back inside. Helicopters. If they were friendly, bloody great. If they were foe, unless one of the boys had found an old Stinger missile lying around, they were in for the fight of their lives.

***

Axelle stared at the soldiers who stepped out of the helicopter and felt the tangible release of tension from the four men around her. Dempsey ran out to talk to the man on the door of the chopper. Then he jogged back to her, the expression on his face freezing the words she wanted to say to him. He took her arm and pulled her into the bedroom they’d shared. The room where they’d made love a few short hours ago. She pushed the memories aside. It was done. Finished. A moment of happiness in a lifetime of loneliness.

“The pilot agreed to give you a ride back to base camp. You should head back to the States as soon as you can, until it’s safe to return.”

She started shaking. Whatever she’d expected it hadn’t been this abrupt departure, and she couldn’t explain the feelings that ripped through her at the thought of leaving him. He was a soldier on a mission. Not a holiday romance. He had to go. More important,
she
had to go. There was work to do.

“You’re going after Volkov?” she asked. Her teeth chattered, but neither of them mistook it for cold.

His vivid blue eyes stared hard into hers. A muscle ticked in his jaw. All the years of doing everything by herself crowded inside her. All that experience of pushing people away surged up in an unstoppable wave. She raised her hand to stop him when he started to speak.

“Good, because I need to get back and see how the leopards are doing. Reevaluate the project. See if the cubs are okay.” Her voice cracked. Why was this so hard? She wrapped her arms tight around herself and took a step away. She felt colder than she had during that blizzard. Colder than jumping into a frozen lake. She didn’t want Dempsey to go. She didn’t want to be alone anymore. But he was a soldier—this was what he did.

And this awful aching heartbreak was exactly why she didn’t get involved.

“Axelle—”

“Please…don’t say goodbye.” Her plea turned into a sob as he took a step closer. “The last time I said goodbye to a soldier he died. I can’t go through that again.”

He said nothing but his eyes spoke volumes.
This
was his reality. He might not come home. Even if he did survive, the chance of them ever seeing each other again was nonexistent. This was goodbye.

She needed to tell him things. Important things. Meaningful things. She opened her mouth and nothing came out. She reached out and took his hand. “I don’t know how to thank you for everything.”

The memory of them coming together last night flashed through her mind and she saw it reflected in his expression. He squeezed his eyes shut and raised his face to the ceiling. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed whatever words he wanted to say. There was no way out of this. This was the end for them.

She raised herself on tiptoes and kissed his cheek though he didn’t move and didn’t look at her. “So, thank you for everything, Sergeant.”

His fingers tightened on her arms for a moment and then he let her go.

She ran out of the hut, forcing a smile and wave for Dempsey’s men and blinking away the sudden onslaught of tears that wanted to drown her in misery. She had promised herself a crying jag once she escaped the mountain; she just needed to hold it together for a few minutes longer. She jogged across the hard-packed earth, bending instinctively away from the threat of the rotors. One of the crew pulled her on board, and like that they were airborne, her heart falling out of her chest as the ground dropped away. She watched Dempsey as he stood in the village square, staring after her.

Some things weren’t meant to be.

Maybe she was meant to be alone. But there was this physical pain at the thought she’d never see him again. A sickness that wanted to take a bite out of her soul.

A crewman offered her water and she shook herself out of her melancholy. She yanked her gaze from the man on the ground because he’d been a short interlude and now it was time to get back to reality. Her leopards should hopefully be safe again. Now she had to get back to camp and decide the way forward for the project. For the first time ever the thought didn’t excite her. She slumped against the unforgiving metal sides of the chopper.

Maybe she was just tired.

She closed her eyes against the majesty of the mountains and a sky that reminded her of one man’s eyes. One man she needed to forget. One man she was terrified she’d never get over.

CHAPTER 14

Dempsey organized the men into groups and they pored over maps—ironically Russian-made and probably by Dmitri Volkov—and checked gear and comms. He did not think about the sadness of Axelle’s mouth, or the tumult of emotions washing through her eyes. He didn’t think about how it had gone against every instinct inside him to send her away. He just did his job, followed orders the way he had for the past two decades, ignoring the unsettled turmoil going on inside him.

“Same squads as before then?” Captain Robert Prentice was the requisite officer on the op. The team had worked out a new plan together, based on their knowledge of the situation, with eyes in the sky and boots on the ground, taking into account someone else was also looking for Dmitri Volkov.

Dempsey nodded. “One team tracks him directly, the rest circle and flank. Pretty sure he’s lost all his communication equipment so we should be okay to talk over the PRR and secure radio.”

“We’ve discovered his grandson is sick and needs a liver transplant,” said Captain Prentice.

Dempsey drew in a tight breath. That was why he’d reappeared after a decade as a ghost. “He was trying to use Dr. Dehn as some sort of leverage to get his grandson treatment?” He couldn’t help it, it changed his outlook a little. No one knew better than him that bombers and terrorists were flesh-and-blood people with families, lives and hopes. And shedloads of regrets.

“Seems that way. The Russians have had tight restrictions on the family leaving the country for years.” The captain laughed. “Ironically, the last time one of them left it was Dmitri’s son, Sergei. He was part of a trade delegation to New York in September 2001.”

Dempsey reared back. “He died in 9/11?”

The captain nodded.

“That’s not irony, that’s bloody tragedy.” Dempsey ground his teeth together.

“The irony is Volkov helped these bastards in the first place. Now everyone and his ruddy cat is looking for the man’s dying grandson in the hopes of controlling the old bastard and finding out everything he knows.”

“I don’t like the idea of using kids as pawns.” Dempsey planted his boot on a rock.

“The boy is the grandson of one of the world’s worst terrorists. Shit happens.” The officer tried to look down his Sandhurst nose at Dempsey but he had to tilt his head too far back to get there.

“You can’t make the kid pay for the crimes of the father.” Dempsey held the naive gaze of the young officer.

Captain Prentice frowned uncertainly, unsure what had happened, but knowing he’d somehow upset the most experienced man on his team. There was an unwritten rule in the SAS: Don’t fuck with the NCOs if you wanted to make it out of an op still breathing.

His own service record spoke for itself. He had more years in than anyone else here, and yet he still felt the need to prove himself every fucking day because of mentalities like this guy’s. “At least the poor little bugger probably has a better chance of survival if we pick him up, rather than the Russians.”

They’d used facial recognition on the dead men. Spetsnaz. The Russians wanted Dmitri dead. No surprise there.

Dempsey got his head out of his ass and got ready to move out. “Watch out for this fecker. He’s a sniper, plus he could set mines, tripwires, and he moves like a bloody greyhound. He knows all the hidey holes not marked on this map. Plus, he has friends here in this valley, people who’ll help him.” He let his eyes stray over the locals. They’d leave behind a squad here and use the position as their forward operating center, see if they could build some positive rapport by the medics treating any health issues in the village.

Hearts and minds.

But somehow Dmitri Volkov had already beaten them in the race for hearts and minds. They were playing catch-up in a place very few people cared about.

Dempsey tapped the photos in his breast pocket, scanned the crowd and felt the dull thump of his pulse as he realized he was looking for Axelle. He looked at the sky and blinked hard. Axelle was gone.

She’d forget about him the moment she got back to her leopards.

The sun burned his eyes, and his throat felt like someone had stripped it with turpentine. He gripped his carbine and jerked his chin. “Time to move out.”

***

A chauffeur-driven limo pulled up outside Jonathon’s Fulham home and he locked his front door behind him. He’d bought this terraced home in the late Fifties before the area got trendy. After his wife and daughter died, he’d had it divided into three flats, and made enough money from the rental to buy a property near the coast, plus a smart little yacht.

The chauffeur opened the car door for him and Jonathon climbed in.

“Good morning,” he said to Rear Admiral Walter Jenkins.
Arrogant old sot
. The driver shut the door and climbed into his seat, nosed out into rush-hour traffic.

“Finally see what these people think is so ruddy Top Secret, huh?” Walter grumbled, helping himself to coffee.

“Some James Bond space weapon, I’m sure.” Jonathon replied drolly, then opened his paper. He yawned. It had been a late night. An operational success, not to mention physically pleasurable. Just as well he’d waited until afterwards to tell Lucinda his secret though. Poor woman had turned into a blithering wreck when he’d told her beloved Sebastian had been shot in the back by a Soviet traitor. How long would it take her to tell her son, he wondered, glancing at his watch. Had she phoned him straightaway? No, she’d brood for a few hours. Have a shower and try to pretend she hadn’t spent the night shagging her husband’s best friend before she phoned David. He checked his watch again. He should have plenty of time.

“They probably got the idea from Ian Fleming.” The admiral laughed at his own wit.

“Art mimicking life mimicking art?” Jonathon raised a brow and crossed his legs. The admiral looked uneasy at the effeminate gesture and inched back, nursing his coffee as the driver weaved through the commuter lanes. Jonathon smiled.

“I see Warwick were all out for fifty-five.” Jonathon knew the other man supported Yorkshire. The man preened and Jonathon told him the rest of the cricket scores. He’d always been fascinated by the loyalty people had to their place of birth.

They stopped off to pick up the next member of the committee. He hid a smile but excitement made his chest hum. Dmitri Volkov was being hunted by some of the most deadly forces in existence. No way would he get the chance to open his disloyal mouth before they put pretty little bullet holes in his hide. And as soon as Jonathon found the rest of the Volkov clan, he was looking forward to wiping them out too. One rat at a time.

***

Axelle stared in disbelief as Sir Ian Turner, OBE, Chairman of the Conservation Trust, threw back the flap of her tent and walked out. She thanked the helicopter crew for the ride. They’d wanted to take her to a military base, but hadn’t balked too much when she’d explained she had to pack up her equipment and would get the next available flight out.
Yeah. Right
.

She jumped down. Josef and Anji both ran toward her and she was engulfed in Josef’s giant hug.

“I thought you were dead,” he shouted over the noise of the departing chopper. Emotion was stark on the big man’s face and he grabbed her for another hug. “Oh my God. I thought you were dead.”

Anji hopped on his heels. “You safe. You safe.”

Axelle clasped Josef for a moment and smiled at Anji. She waved at the departing chopper, watching until it disappeared over the next bluff, and used the time to contemplate why the big boss was here.

“I got trapped inside a mountain.” She let herself shudder. Dempsey had taught her it was okay to show weakness. It didn’t actually make you weak.

“You‘re okay? The soldier? He found you? He’s alive?” Anxiety was clear in Josef’s gaze.

A surge of pain hit. Fresh. Devastating. He wasn’t dead. He was just gone. “He saved my life, but they didn’t catch the poacher yet. That man is still on the run and the soldiers are tracking him.” She held her boss’s gaze. “What are you doing here, Ian?”

He looked uncertain for a moment. “We should talk inside.”

“No. You can speak in front of Josef and Anji. They deserve to know what’s going on.” She braced her arms across her chest and widened her stance. She had the feeling whatever he had to say, the others would find out soon enough anyway.

He shifted his feet. Took a breath. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to relieve you of your position as project head.”

“What are you talking about?” Her voice dropped low but the guy didn’t catch on to the danger.

He stretched his brows high and wide, looking both obsequious and dismissive. “You’ve willfully disregarded the Trust’s orders and have been responsible for the death of several leopards and the removal of three radio collars against clear instruction. We’ve lost at least half of the sample size—”