Fire with Fire(65)
The window, responding to the “fast-retract” control, snapped down as they came out of the shadow of the overhang. An abrupt rush of air scalloped into the car and out again, fiercely snatching the map right out of Opal’s hand. “Shit!” she cried.
In the rearview mirror, Caine saw it flutter down into the shadows behind them.
He also noticed, now three hundred meters below, with four kilometers of treacherous switchback roadway between them, two vehicles exiting the main highway onto the same turnoff they had used. More sightseers turned away from the main overlook. He hoped their vehicles were up to the strain of the climb. Probably were: they were large-wheeled, boxy, off-road machines—apparently of matching make and model. Tourists straight from the rental agency, from the look of it.
MENTOR
The radio paged twice, quickly. Then a single signal, a long pause, and another single signal. Hounds had arrived—and there were two of them. Bloody hell; Nolan was right.
Downing started the car. Not that he needed to: there was no cause for alarm, and he had no role other than to await the results—and to clean up any mess left behind when his SEAL snipers were done “protecting” Caine and Opal.
But twenty-five years in covert operations had taught him one lesson above all others:
When a perfect plan meets imperfect, unpredictable reality, things go wrong. And sometimes, the greatest damage can be done by the smallest unforeseen detail—
ODYSSEUS
Opal turned back toward Caine with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about the map. But we’d better go back and get it.”
He matched her smile. “You’re proving to be nothing but trouble.”
Her eyes did not waver, but her smile changed slightly. “That is my mission in life.”
He heard the muted insinuation in her tone, felt his body begin to respond—and doused himself with a cold shower of reason: Okay, Caine, let’s not accompany her too quickly down the flirtation flume-ride. “Well, you have accomplished your mission, Captain.”
“For now.” Her voice was still playful, still subtly provocative. Caine decided that he was starting to like Greece a great deal.
As he swung the car through a tight 180-degree turn, he saw two approaching plumes of dust on the roadway below: the approaching sightseers. He hit the accelerator; better to retrieve the map before the new arrivals reached the area they had to search. No reason to create a traffic jam on a cliffside stretch of road that was officially two-lane, but sure didn’t look or feel that way.
They plunged back into the sharply delimited shadow of the overhang.
MENTOR
The radio paged once, twice—and then the fateful third time. Bollocks: something’s awry. Murphy’s Law strikes again.
Downing waited for his collarcom to chirrup—but instead, the handset toned another three times.
He snatched up the radio as he shifted out of neutral. “This is not a secure line. Reroute to command channel alpha—”
“Game Warden, this is Huntsman. We do not have time—repeat, do not have time—to wait for secure com clearance and switching.”
Crikey, the op is going pear-shaped. “Understood. Sitrep, Huntsman.”
“Fox doubled back into our blindspot—”
“Your what?”
“Our blindspot: a forty-meter stretch of road where we have no line of sight.”
Just fucking brilliant. “Huntsman, advance Dogcatcher One to the nearest fire enabled position immediately.”
“Game Warden, that is a negative. Our OpOrd requires we stay under aerial cover at all—”
“Huntsman, I wrote your operation orders. I say three times; move Dogcatcher One to a fire-enabled overlook on the blind spot now. Fox must be protected at all costs, even if you compromise your OP. Game Warden out.”
“Out.”
Downing rolled out of the convenience store’s parking lot, and northward into the heat shimmers of the two-lane macadam. As he accelerated—steadily, but not abruptly—he reached over and popped open the briefcase that was resting on the passenger seat . . .
ODYSSEUS
“Do you see the map?”
Opal squinted forward into the dust that was still hanging in the air from their uphill passage of half a minute ago. “No, I—”
The car lurched slightly to the right and Caine realized that, in scanning for the map himself, he had taken his eyes off the road. He snapped his attention forward again, but too late: he had veered toward the edge of the road and put the passenger side front wheel into the gravel of the partially completed drainage ditch.
He swung the wheel hard to the left—and immediately regretted it: the digital controls were too sensitive for performance driving. He felt the rear tires shudder, struggle, then lose traction—and suddenly they were speeding downhill sideways in a gradual spin.