“There’s a storm coming in tonight,” he said in English, “then a forty-eight-hour break before the next one rolls in.”
That’s when Edyta entered, wearing a bright yellow parka and black wool hat pulled down to her eyes. Crocker, who didn’t see her immediately, got an elbow in his side from Akil. “Look.”
Recognizing Crocker, her gray-blue eyes sparkled, and she wrapped him in a hug. “Crocker. You old dog.”
“It’s good to see you again, Edie.”
“I pictured you sitting before a fire, well fed and pleased with yourself, with your children and dogs gathered around you.”
“I’m still getting in a climb or two a year. How are things?”
She looked leaner, more wizened, but still attractive in a been-everywhere, nothing-will-shock-me kind of way. High cheekbones, a wide, full mouth, strong jaw and chin. Straight, dirty blond hair that barely reached her shoulders.
She said: “My body’s stronger than ever. My mind is still sharp. And I’m still hungry. Very hungry. I’m not ready to slow down yet. Too many mountains and too little time.”
“I hear you.”
“More mountains to conquer, more hearts to break.”
Even in her forties, she still projected the aura of a femme fatale. A leaner, much tougher Kathleen Turner from Body Heat. Knowing Edyta, it was probably one of her favorite movies.
She whispered to Crocker, brandy on her breath: “I’m going to eat with the Italians after I help them clear up some garbage. You want to come?”
“You’re doing what?”
“These Italian environmentalists, they’re cleaning all the camps from Askole on. Empty gas canisters, beer tins, Coke cans, packaged food wrappers, batteries. Drop by my tent later. We can catch up.”
Crocker knew what she wanted. Edyta made no bones about the fact that she’d slept with practically every attractive climber she’d met.
“I’d like to, but I’m married.”
The glint in her eyes was wicked. “That didn’t stop you before.”
She was right. But that was during his first marriage, when he’d spent over three hundred days of the year away from home. He had returned after a three-week deployment to find the lawn unmowed and no furniture, lightbulbs, or even toilet paper in the house. Had no idea where his wife and three-year-old daughter had gone.
That hurt real bad. Now he limited his days away from home base to two hundred. Crocker wanted this marriage to last.
“Not this time,” he said.
“You’ll change your mind.”
“I doubt it.”
Edyta had a voice that sounded like honey mixed with gravel. “You know, a warm body is a luxury in a place like this. And mine gets hot.”
Crocker’s teammate stood to his right, vibrating with eagerness to take his place.
“Edyta, I want you to meet a good friend of mine. His name’s Akil.”
She checked him out from head to toe. “You look strong.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“You like Italian food, Akil? You want to come with me and get dirty picking up some garbage?”
Akil winked in the direction of his boss. “Why not?” he answered.
Edyta grabbed his hand and led him out.
Chapter Seven
I just don’t want to die without a few scars.
—Chuck Palahniuk
SNOW AND ice everywhere they looked, interrupted by sheets of gray granite. A buzzing blue sky. Thin air. His mind reaching into euphoria. Lungs and muscles burning.
They climbed four steps, then stopped to catch their breath. Climbed three more, then stopped again—Crocker, Davis, Akil, Edyta, and two of the Germans linked to one another by an eighty-foot rope.
After they had climbed eight hours, the sun continued to beam intensely and brilliantly as they ascended steep snow slopes weighed down by fifty-pound packs. The porters had stayed behind in the Concordia.
And as they passed between rocky towers, wiggled through ice gullies, and stepped carefully across knife-sharp ridges, Crocker replayed a nightmare from the night before. It had occurred in an unusual yellow light. He and Akil were accompanying some U.S. Army Special Forces somewhere in the Middle East. They stopped and were resting with their backs against a berm. The ground felt warm. The sun bore down on them, hot and heavy. Crocker, who wanted to keep moving, didn’t like the fact that they were exposed on three sides.
He sat admiring the way the sunlight turned the dust-filled sky a mustard color, thinking that he should point out their vulnerability to the SF leader, when a convoy of three white pickups sped toward them and opened fire. He saw little white splashes of light from the trucks.
Bullets splattered around them, kicking up dirt and shards of rock.