Part 13 (2/2)

The power of decision was gone. He was pure reflex. He wheeled around, swinging the gun onto the woman. Two shots shattered the air. The noise burst inside of him.

Then he was dropping, straight down, listening to the pinp.r.i.c.k chimes of breaking gla.s.s. The golden smell of whisky sprayed everywhere.

He was on his hack and the store was spinning.

The woman stood over him with her gun aimed down at his chest. His chest, where it hurt the most. He didn't know where his own gun had gone. He couldn't feel it in his hand any more. Then he heard it, skittering down the aisle, as the woman kicked it away.

The man, Parker, floated into view.

'You tried looking in a mirror lately, pal?' he said. 'You really don't look so good.'

Curt cried, feeling the tears pool in his eyes Shadows gathered inside him.

'Amber? My little girl?' His voice sounded small, like a child's.

'I'm sorry,' the woman told him. She tucked her gun slowly out of sight, and she knelt beside him with one hand outstretched. Her palm came down over his eyes and suddenly it dawned that he was never going to see Amber again. He fought to build a picture of her in his mind, but somehow it kept coming out as a blur of white.

Then the storm in Curt Redeker's head fell silent.

Chapter Ten.

Bad visibility was so much worse when you were riding down the mountain flat on your back. Despite all the painkillers, Paul Falvi felt the stretcher ride bouncing his gut around, as he watched his world go by through a filter of cold and pain.

There was no s.h.i.+ne to the silver In the branches overhead, the surrounding white having lost the last of its brightness.

Withered arms of trees tossed blanched confetti down on the procession and Falvi thought, blearily. that this was no wedding march.

No, man, this is my funeral. No offence to Eastman's skills, but he wasn't expecting to make it down this mountain. But every time he felt a shaft of pain, he'd grab onto it and use it to strengthen his resolve. Oh yeah, he was was going to make it. going to make it.

He was in good hands, the best. Coc.o.o.ned in a sleeping bag, plus an extra blanket, borne along by a couple of angels.

Well. Eastman and Barnes. Probably lost their halos a long time ago. but they both had sun in their eyes, even on a cold day. Shame was, he was getting all the wrong view of Barnes - and he had to lift his head for a proper view of that.

'I know what you're doing. Falvi,' spoke Eastman from on high Falvi laughed, and winced. He let his head drop back again.

Man, that was hard work. 'Hey. tell Barnes these uniforms don't do squat for her figure.'

'Let me know when Donna Karan lands that Army contract.' Barnes tried a glance over her shoulder, tough work in the hood. 'How you doing back there?'

'Been better.'

Falvi rolled his head to the left. Pelham was tramping along by their side, the grenade launcher giving his M4 rifle a serious double chin. Seen through a haze of drugs, mist and pain, he was a lot less ugly. Falvi wanted to laugh again but it felt like he might fetch.

Anyway, he could just make out the lieutenant, moving down between the tires, all on his own and taking lots of looks around.

Well he might. He'd let everyone know how caution was his watchword.

'Son of a b.i.t.c.h, He could've let you take them, Barnes. Eyes closed, no sweat.'

The words were a battle, but he had to say them. Pelham was close enough to hear, but Sergeant Bederman. with his permanently stern gaze and a face of bevelled edges, was out on the wing, past Pelham and safely removed from the conversation. Barnes was quiet a while.

She said. 'Let it go, Falvi. It was Hmieleski's call.' The hang of her head and shoulders said the test. 'The Kristal Ball is going after her.'

'I heard.'

Falvi straightened his neck, aimed his eyes at the sky again. Except of course it wasn't there The white ceiling was too solid and too low to be called cloud. It smothered the treetops, hurling flakes of itself everywhere, like a moulting blanket thrown in the air. If he slipped away now, unconscious or the alternative, he supposed he'd still be seeing white.

He rolled his head again for another glimpse of the Lieutenant. McKim was the vaguest of silhouettes, walking into a lot of nothing.

'What worries me, it's what they might be dragging her into.' His thoughts travelled on ahead, following McKim into the snowfall. 'You know?'

For a moment, he thought n.o.body had heard him. Like maybe he had drifted off and the real world carried on into his dream.

But then he could see the hollow response in Pelham's gaze at least. n.o.body wanted to talk about it. What they'd witnessed at the house. Before the fire, before Hmieleski got nabbed.

'Maybe they're still out there.' he suggested hoa.r.s.ely.

'What?' Barnes was annoyed at being spooked, he could tell.

The bad part was he wasn't playing games. Suddenly Falvi really believed it. That had to be the truth: the cult had staged everything. Blown each other away in a frenzy, and now they were ghosts sulking the landscape. Ghosts, at one with the winter. Cold and dead and white.

It made sense. Scary sense.

Falvi blinked and lay back to get a rein on his breathing.

Stupid. Getting worked up over a hunch. He kept it to himself and watched the grey branches pa.s.s overhead.

The sound of the shots soared over the s...o...b..und town like a couple of distant jets, one chasing the other's tail. Makenzie pressed on Martha's and Amber's shoulders, as if to plant them where they stood, then he was running for the store.

He'd been trapped in a fight with Martha over that deal he'd made with Morgan. Fair enough; but he'd had a bellyful of quarrels since Morgan had turned up, and he'd been searching for a quick excuse to duck out. Gunshots, though, were not a welcome pretext.

When he reached that door, Makenzie knew the drill. He took it slow, stole a good look round past the edge of the window, and he went in with his revolver up. The adrenaline was up a little higher.

The bell sounded a lonely note as he entered. Hal's store was routinely quiet. The whiff of smoke told him this wasn't routine. Makenzie knew he was too late: the shots had been fired Hal Byers was on his feet, walking out from the end aisle and mopping his face and brow with a big handkerchief 'Mak,' he motioned to the aisle. 'They took care of it.'

Taking him at his word. Makenzie holstered his pistol and went around to check it out.

He should have expected to find the CIA woman and her partner she'd said she was going to look for him here. The ident.i.ty of the body on the floor, rather than the death, was the shock.

Makenzie felt like his gut had been scooped out. the rest of his insides sinking to fill the pit.

The Quartararo woman stood up from examining the corpse. Her partner, built broad like Makenzie, thrust out a hand and a smile way too warm for the situation.

'Agent Parker Theroux, pleasure to meet you. We had a minor hold-up situation here, but as you can see it's all under control. It's cut-and-dried, open-and-shut, a closed case on your books. Chief.' The smile perked up a touch. 'I'm sure we're not going to run into any jurisdictional difficulties on this one.'

<script>