“You’re awake,” the voice said. “I was wondering when you’d come around, or if. Go slow or you’ll pass out.”
My head felt as if it was about to split open. The pain throbbed with my beating heart, going from excruciating to genuinely agonizing with every pulse. I found I could move my right arm and reached gingerly to my scalp, passing my hand carefully across it, until I found matted, sticky hair. Tentatively, I fingered the wound, moving my fingers delicately along the crease to judge its severity, afraid to probe for depth. I was alive, so the bullet hadn’t struck my brain. I might die yet from internal bleeding, but I wasn’t dead yet.
The pain slowly ebbed and sensation returned to my weary body. I was lying on my back, I realized. I could feel the ground beneath me, empty space over me. Slowly, I opened my eyes. It was dark straight ahead. I looked more intensely and could make out vivid stars above the looming, dark forms of trees.
There was an inviting, familiar snapping sound. I turned my head slowly and stared into a small fire, buried in a pit, a few feet away. Opposite it sat Stern on a backless camp chair. Behind him was a lean-to, furnished with a bed of pine needles and a rolled sleeping bag.
The fire’s light played across Stern’s face as he stared at me, and it was as if I was seeing him for the first time. Gone was the constant cocksure expression, the slight smirk, the blue tinted glasses. He looked heavier even, more substantial in his usually lean face, a reflection of his changed demeanor. He also looked older, more mature, and a lot smarter than the customary glib, shoot-from-the-hip patter that usually accompanied what passed for his thought process.
“Go easy,” he said—and even his voice was different. “If you can sit up, do it. I’ve got some Earl Grey tea here. I’m sure you’d like some.” He held a large, tin cup in front of him. I could see the steam rising from it. His free hand moved, and he dropped four sugar cubes into it.
I felt for the ground about me, braced my hands and arms, then with some difficulty managed to push myself into a sitting position. My head swam for a moment and I saw stars, then slowly the two sensations eased away. I sat, unmoving, so as not to test anything.
Stern stood up, moved around the fire, and handed me the cup. “Careful. It’s hot. You’ll burn yourself.”
He went back to his seat as I lifted the cup and felt the heat as it touched my lips. I pulled it away, blew on it, then tried again. I managed a small sip of the sweet, hot tea. Waited, then tried another. Within a minute I’d managed to get it all down me, the warmth coursing through me as a welcome embrace.
Stern came around and took the cup from my hands. On his side of the fire, he filled it again with water from an old-style porcelain coffee pot, placed a tea bag into it, dropped in four sugar cubes, then gave the cup back to me.
“Take your time,” he said as he sat back down. I noticed two FNs near at hand. One would be mine, the other Grant’s. I didn’t see the handgun he’d taken from Noblet but assumed it was on his person. “We’ve got all night. It’ll be good to have your company. Good to talk to someone I respect and like. It’s been a lonely life.” He sipped from his cup. “They tell you about that in training—how lonely it will be—but the reality is much worse, unless you’re a sociopath and don’t care about people. You’re my friend, Scott, or as good as. I’m glad I missed. It was an easy shot and I shouldn’t have missed, so I think part of me really didn’t want to kill you.” He stared into the fire. “You get soft over the years. I was a lot tougher when I first started out than I am today.” A slow smile spread across his lips, a shadow of his usually cocky smirk. “I guess you might say that’s a good thing.” He met my eyes, then said, “You’ll be hungry. I’ve got some stew and biscuits when you think you’re up to it. All the comforts of home.” He gestured lightly about him. “Just let me know.”
“They’re looking for you,” I said, my voice sounding like a croak. “Isn’t that fire a risk?”
“A small one. This place is well concealed, and you’d have to be on the camp to see the fire from the ground. There’s an overhang, and these trees protect it from the air, mostly. They’ve likely got some drones out, but this won’t be the only fire on the mountain tonight, even if it is spotted. It’s a small risk and one I’m glad to take. I was cold through and through once I stopped. And, like you, I haven’t had a meal since yesterday morning.”
“Why’d you kill Grant?” I asked.
Stern shrugged. “He didn’t give me any choice, did he? I tried like hell to shake you guys but you just wouldn’t let up. I nearly killed myself with the pace. I spotted you twice, you were so close. Did you see me?” I shook my head, regretting it at once. “I looked from behind cover. Anyway, once I neared this place,” he gestured with his free hand, “I had to stop you both. You really didn’t give me any choice, Scott.”
“Where are we?”
“At a provisioning camp. You weigh a ton. It took me almost an hour to get you here. There are three of them placed on the mountain for me. It was part of the deal. This wasn’t a suicide mission for me. Each one has a homing device. I need to decide what to do next. The storm’s passed, as I’m sure you can tell. It’ll get cold tonight without cloud cover, but we’re much lower, so it won’t be so bad. It will dawn very bright tomorrow, and the choppers will be out in force. Special Forces units are combing the mountainside searching for me and for you and Grant. Maybe it’s smarter to just stay put, wait it out. The temptation to run is pretty strong, though, I can tell you. If not tomorrow, maybe tomorrow night. There’s another site like this to the northwest that I can reach in a few hours. It’ll take me away from the focus of the hunt. What do you think I should do?”
“Surrender.”
Stern smiled broadly. “Boy Scout to the end, huh. No, I don’t think I’ll be surrendering. No future in that. Anyway, I like my odds. They’re better than fifty-fifty, I’d say, maybe much better. It’s a big mountain, and this place is well sheltered.”
“Lester says you’re a sleeper agent for the Russians. Is that right?”
“Fowl said that? He shouldn’t have been alive to say anything. Like I said, I’m getting soft, or a worse shot. It used to be my best area. We had contests every Saturday. Winner got dessert with dinner that night. I had dessert a lot.” He sipped from the cup. “I suspected he was on to me. He had no business being on this climb, you know? Then he dogged me the whole time, even arranged for himself to be my tent mate. I did everything I could to make it unpleasant for him—short of kissing him—but he stuck it out. That’s when I was pretty sure.”
“So he was right?”
Stern smiled, as if remembering a distant memory. “Let’s see, it’s been 16 years. The real Quentin’s folks died during his last year at Fresno State College. He dropped out without graduating and went to work for a weekly newspaper, selling ads and writing the occasional article. He didn’t have any friends to speak of, never did, in fact. We had agents looking for a match for me, someone close enough in appearance, you know? Someone with no family, no lasting connections to his past. Quentin grew up in the Bay Area, so he only knew some of the students in college and at that paper. We did the switch when he was on a camping vacation by himself. It was pretty simple. I hiked to his last campsite and he was already dead. They’d left all his stuff for me. I don’t know what they did with his body, but getting rid of people was their specialty. I’d already studied him and just moved into the character.”
“How old were you?”
“I’m two years older than Quentin. I’m 38 now. I resigned from the paper by mail, then risked going to Fresno to get his crap. I did that in the middle of the night, so as not to run into anyone who knew him, and only took his most personal things. After that, I drove his car to New York City where, with a little help, I landed my job at the New York Examiner. I looked enough like him on his California license, but the riskiest part was that drive. I didn’t need a driver’s license there. When I moved to Florida, the rest was a snap. I had all his papers and was well established as Quentin by then.”
“So you’re Russian.”
“Through and through. После того, как русские, всегда русский. The way it works is, I was an orphan. At least, that’s the story they told us. I grew up in one of our charm villages. You’ve heard of the charm schools where everyone speaks perfect American English so agents get the accent down? Well, they’ve got a couple of charm villages, too. I went to a regular American school, studied the usual American courses, ate pizza and hotdogs, watched baseball, and played basketball. Just like here, except that at night I lived in a dormitory, later in my own room. No family. They didn’t like to encourage those kinds of close relationships. They didn’t want us exposed to traditional family ties and love. Though on Sunday we ate with one of the families to see how Americans interacted, and to practice our table manners.” He made a face. “I learned later they only called us orphans. I don’t know who my real parents were, but they very likely died in a labor camp in Siberia or were shot in the Lubyanka. When people like that had young, healthy toddlers with the right look, we were shipped off to the charm villages to grow up. Russia always needs loyal sons who talk and act just like Americans. I heard they had a village for Brits, too.”
“If you think they killed your parents, why do you serve them”
“Who says I am?”
“Isn’t that…” I stopped. “You’re right. I’m really hungry—if you were serious about that meal.”
“Sure thing. I saved plenty for you.” He had the stew warming beside the fire. He dished out a large plate of hot food, placed two large biscuits on top, along with a fork, then brought it over.
“More tea?” he asked.
I nodded. He went back and made another cup and brought it over. He leaned down. “Let me look at that a minute.”
I felt his fingers carefully touching my hair. “Nasty. But it stopped bleeding. You seem to be thinking clearly.” He went back to his seat to watch me wolf down the meal. It was good. He’d added some rice into the mix, and it was very filling. As soon as I finished, he dished out more without asking.
“What’s this all about?” I asked, when I was finally sated.
Stern shrugged. “They had me do a few odd jobs when I lived in Manhattan. Nothing too risky, designed to make sure I’d do as instructed. They wanted me to stay close to Michael Sodoc and move up in Sodoc News Services. I understood that some of the key people in American media are faces I’d recognize from the charm village where I grew up. You wouldn’t know them, as they aren’t on camera and don’t usually have a byline, but they’re well placed. When that didn’t work out, I took the job with the National Inquisitor in Florida. As a reporter I traveled a lot, so they changed me into an operator. I was also in a position to gather blackmail material, some of it pretty nasty. You don’t really think all those Hollywood stars are lefty by choice, do you?”
“Fowl says you killed Michael Sodoc.”
“Yeah, I did that one. I knew he was staying in Kathmandu even before we left on the expedition. I tried to get at him, but no go. Since he was in training and sleeping in a hyperbaric chamber to increase his blood count, I reasoned that he planned to go to Base Camp at some point. There’s only the single helicopter that makes the flight, so I planted a device near its gas tank and waited at Base Camp. Sure enough, he showed up. I didn’t know for certain until he stepped off the chopper, but I saw him climb into it when he left. You remember? We were standing side by side. I set the explosion off so I’d get a good shot of it. It was quite a coup for me.”
“You sure had me fooled.”
He nodded his head. “Thank you. Quentin was such a jerk, you know? I hated playing him, at first, and considered letting him grow up, but by then he was second nature. His abrasive personality was actually pretty useful, as I could ask questions, do things nice people never would, and no one gave it a second thought. Still, he’s a nasty piece of work, I can tell you.”
“How many others have you killed?”
“I haven’t kept count. They didn’t like to use me too much. They’ve got people who specialize in that sort of thing, but sometimes it was simpler for me to do it—or I was the only one who could get close without suspicion. Not many, less than a dozen altogether, not counting what you Americans call collateral damage.”
“What’s it like? To just kill someone in cold blood?”
This Stern smirked just like the other one. “At the charm village they took us hunting at an early age. They brought in old Russians from Siberia who really knew their stuff. They taught us to track, how to kill with a single shot. We gutted, dressed and skinned our own game. We did this a lot over the years. There were contests and rewards. Once we were old enough, those included a night with the girls among us. Usual male-female relations were forbidden and severely punished if they occurred. We all had to learn what was what, especially the girls, as the Russians use the honey pot a lot to get what they want. You know about that?”
I nodded. Attractive women, essentially state prostitutes, who set men up for blackmail. It was very effective.
“So the girls had to learn about it. Later they received special training, but we were spared that. Anyway, we raised most of our own food, and everyone worked in the fields during the summers. I hated it. We also all took our turns at the slaughter house. Every bit of chicken we ate, every piece of pork, every steak came from an animal one of us in training had slaughtered. Twice a year they brought condemned prisoners to us. At first we took part in firing squads—to spread the responsibility. Later we were given a pistol, entered the cell, told the prisoner to turn around and kneel, then shot him in the back of the head, the way it’s usually done in Russian prisons. You ask me how I feel about killing someone? I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
He reached down, poured more hot water into his cup, then added a tea bag and sugar. This time he didn’t offer me any.
“So this was a Russian operation?” I asked.
“Naw. I walked away from that. They made me an instrument they could use, but part of me wanted a different life. I think you can understand that, Scott. I’d see happy families in Central Park and sit on a bench watching them, wondering what that was like, whether such a life was even possible for me. Over the years, my desire for that consumed me. I married Kira, tried to have a normal life, enjoy what I’d been missing all those years—and you know how that worked out. When you don’t know ‘normal’ you don’t make good decisions.”
“There’s your daughter.”
That stopped him for a moment. “Yes. She’s the only person I’ve ever really loved. Sometimes it’s overwhelming. Once I get off this mountain I’ll switch identity and go get her in Japan. I won’t kill her grandparents unless I have to. I want to give that up, if possible. It makes you smaller, you know? That’s something they don’t teach. Or maybe I’m just getting soft.”
“They just let you leave?”
“It’s not quite that simple. When it became clear the old Soviet Union just couldn’t continue, the KGB decided to let it fall. They let the drunken Yeltsin do all the dirty work needed for the transition while they took over the important instruments for long-term control—media, finance, key industries, things like that. Don’t look surprised. Even your incompetent CIA knows all this. It’s no big secret. Today the security apparatus that kept Russian in terror runs the show. Putin’s been a real master at it, and I see no prospect if it ending short of real revolution. I wouldn’t count that out, knowing my countryman as I do.
“All that was pretty complicated for a few years, though. Even though the charm villages kept churning us out and the apparatus put us in place, for a time no one paid much attention to us. I was often on a pretty free leash and that’s when I got married without telling anyone. I thought maybe they’d forgotten about me or would just let me go, you know? Why not? Putin had his hands full at home, and my control had moved into politics.” Stern smiled. “You knew him, by the way.”
“I did?”
“Sure. When you went to Russia. Ivanov Ligachev, First Deputy Prime Minister. He was one of the agents they moved into energy—oil, specifically. Most of the time, as I was growing up, he was mayor of my charm village. That was the title they gave him when he came visiting. He made a point to get to know all of us future operatives. About half a dozen of us were positioned in the U.S. at the same time, and he gave up that job to serve as control. I was able to break away when he left to go into the open government in Siberia.” He smiled again. “There’s a Russian proverb that warns, ‘There was never a saint with red hair.’ I guess whoever made that one up knew what he was talking about.” He paused, then asked, “You were there when he died, right?”
“Yes. On Elbrus.”
“Tell me.”
I related the story of his drunken night, about him coming on with Tarja, then insisting we all climb the mountain the next day. We’d spent the night at the jumping-off point, sleeping and eating in what are called the ‘barrels.’ That morning, after a not very demanding hike, he collapsed, nearly slid off the mountain, and died.
Stern nodded in acceptance. “Was it really poison?”
“Yes. The assassin told me. It was a personal grudge.”
Stern smirked. “Good old Russia. They never get very far from that, do they? He was okay, I guess. Just doing his job with us. I never took his friendliness to be anything more than official. Still, he was nice to me growing up, and I was sorry to hear he died.”
“I don’t think he suffered more than a few seconds.”
“There’s that, then. About all any of us can hope for.”
After a long minute I asked, “They didn’t try and change your mind when you walked away?”
“Sure they did, once things settled down in Russia. They’ve got files. They never forget. They contacted me a couple of times, but that didn’t work out so well for them. I also made a file on everything I knew, including videos to go on the Internet in case anything happened to me. I have to check in on a regular schedule to keep everything from being released. There’s enough dirt there to hurt them a bit, enough so they’ve decided to let me be—for now.”
“So this wasn’t a Russian operation?”
“Naw. Why would they want the president taken out? Hell, I’ve wondered if he wasn’t a Manchurian Candidate. Haven’t you? You remember the movies, right? He’s their best friend.”
“So who?”
“Nut jobs, that’s who. They paid very well, though. I should have asked for more. Either way, this had to be my last job. But I don’t know for a fact, frankly, who they are. I think it’s the Mullahs in Iran. He’s the Great Satan, all that claptrap. The guy I dealt with was Iranian, I’m pretty sure, and they’ve had a slick operation which suggests a well-developed intelligence service. They made that gun for me, located these safe sites on the mountain, did everything I asked of them.”
“You said you wanted a normal life. This is a very strange way of getting there.”
“I’ve got nothing, and I can’t be public and escape these people. They won’t let me go, not permanently. I have to disappear, reinvent myself, for myself. And that takes money, a lot of money. The one marketable skill I’ve got that can make me that kind of money is this. It’s not like I had a choice.”
“You missed. Think they’ll pay you now?”
“That’s the beauty of this.” He grinned. “They already have. It was money up front. They didn’t like it, but I told him if they stiffed me afterwards I had no way of collecting. They finally saw the logic and decided to take a chance after I got myself on the climb. Turns out I was just the fail safe. They were looking to do it with their suicide team. I was glad to give them a chance. I was to get a bonus for pulling it off. I’ll have to get by without it.”
“You shot Calvin. You might have killed him.”
“I did?” He looked crestfallen. “I’m not surprised given circumstances. Tony was all over me about leaving the area and I was out of time. I couldn’t count on another chance, not with the Special Forces moving in. I’m sorry to hear that I missed. I’ve been figuring I got the big man and that was why you two were chasing me so hard.” He shrugged. “That was a mess, so I’m not surprised. I couldn’t get close enough for a certain kill shot. I wanted my last job to go off without a hitch. I only had the one shot, you know? I had my knife, but I didn’t want it to come to that. The whole point is to get away and live in quiet prosperity somewhere warm. Then that suicide bomber distracted everyone, so I took my chance. I knew Calvin was in the tent, but I’d worked out where the president was lying. Just as I fired, though, Calvin straightened up, I guess. I saw movement, anyway, and that must be what happened.”
“Tarja fingered you.”
Stern shook his head. “That bitch. You know, I made a killing covering her in New York, but all the while I had this sense that somehow we were connected. I can’t explain it. Even when my editor didn’t put me on her she always seemed to show up at just the right place to make her my story. I thought I was through with all that, then she’s on that Everest climb, you know? It was like fate—or a curse. Then, of all things, she shows up for this one. I almost did her at one point because I was so tired if her turning up like a bad penny. But there was this connection thing I just couldn’t shake off—almost supernatural, you know? It was like… if I did anything to her, it would come back on me. You think you aren’t superstitious, then stuff like that makes sense to you—and you have to wonder.”
“Now what?”
“Wait out the night. Get some shuteye pretty soon. I’m beat.” He glanced skyward. A soft wind rustled in the trees. “You can’t hear them, you know?”
“Hear what?”
“The drones. They’ve got really good cameras and don’t have to fly low. They’ve got Hellfire rockets to.” He looked at me. “You should be worried. They’ll get us both if they use them.”
“I doubt they will. They want you alive, if possible. They’ve got a lot of questions.”
“There’s that. Maybe I can negotiate some kind of witness protection program. What do you think?”
“I doubt it.”
“Don’t bank on it. Remember that blackmail material I mentioned? They’ll want to see it. Trust me. They play that game, too. And I can fill in a lot blanks for them in the Russian government. And I didn’t kill the guy. That’s important. The problem for me isn’t that they won’t deal, it’s that they aren’t very good in protecting people like me who make those deals. I don’t trust them any more than I trust my former comrades.” He stood up and yawned.
“What about me?” I asked though I knew the answer. I just wanted to see if he’d say it to my face.
“You know how this has to end, Scott.”
“You can just leave me. They’ll figure out that homing device eventually and find me.”
“I’ve turned it off.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
He grinned. “I’ll bet you would. So would I, in your shoes. Anything else we need to talk about? I have to get some sleep. It’s been a long, exhausting day.”
There is a rule in situations like this. My personal combat instructor at Ranger school explained it repeatedly. “When you know the outcome, when your death is inevitable, you do not wait passively for it. You can sell your life dearly if you must, but when even that option isn’t available, you act. Always act because from action comes opportunity, opportunity you can’t plan for.”
The only edge I had was that I was feeling a bit better, and he wasn’t expecting it. At least I hoped it was an edge. My head was still swimming and my legs felt deadened—but better that than dead.
Stern drew a breath, then, with seeming reluctance, leaned forward to ease himself to his feet. If he genuinely felt any remorse over what he was about to do, I could see no sign of it, so maybe he’d told the truth. Maybe this really meant nothing to him; just a chore to get over so he could go to sleep.
At the same moment, his hand reached into his jacket. For his knife, I decided, as he wouldn’t want to shoot if he could avoid it, not with Ranger and Seal teams prowling the mountainside. They wouldn’t stand down for the night, not with a manhunt on. They had a presidential assassin to find, along with any stray suicide bombers. They’d be taking no chances.
When you grab burning hot coals it only hurts for a while. This thought crossed my mind as I reached into the base of the small fire with both hands, taking a big pile as my fingers and palms screamed in pain, scooping up as much as possible, flinging it into Stern’s startled face in a single motion. At the same instant, I staggered to my feet, more slowly than I hoped, then lunged at the FNs laying nearby.
Stern recovered quickly—perhaps instinctively, given his years of conditioning—and took me out with a body block, propelling us both away from the weapons and the now-smouldering fire. I pinned each of his arms to his sides so he couldn’t get at his handgun or knife. He twisted us violently left, then right, back again, thrashing us about in a near circle as he struggled to free his right arm. Each of us grunted under the strain. He was surprisingly strong for a man with such a spare build.
I hated the fact that I was on the defensive. As I’d become exhausted, I’d lose in time. The longer this went on, the more certain was the outcome. I had no weapon to reach and didn’t know where his were. All I could do was keep him pinned and away from them as long as I could manage.
We rolled several feet, and my eyes stung as we reached the fire. I felt the heat and inhaled smoke. The fire was beneath me. Stern slammed his head against my face and forced my hair and scalp into the dying flames and burning coals. I jerked up and down as forcefully as my instincts dictated, then side to side, spasmodically, trying to throw him off, jerked again to our left, then braced my foot and finally managed to roll us off the fire. My hair felt ablaze.
Stern pulled his left arm and hand free. I fought to grab and pin it again without success. He’d have a weapon any second and this fight would be over. I pushed us side by side so his free arm was on the bottom, but I felt him moving into his clothing. I abruptly released him, sprang to my feet and fled into the night.