Exit 9

There was no question in his mind who these people were. This was not some academic research station, or even a disguised military facility. If it were either of those, Napoli would have still been alive. No, this was something else entirely. This was what he and Napoli had been sent to find.

He now had one job, and one job only. A job he must fulfill: get back to the radio and let the others know.

He weaved through several hills, then up onto a wide, flat section that he knew ran for about a mile. Unlike earlier, though, when he reached it, he found himself in a dense cloud that hung tightly to the ground. If it weren’t for their earlier tracks, he would have had to stop and wait until visibility increased. As it was, his eyes strained to keep the tracks in sight.

At the end of the plain, the road dipped down again, below cloud level. Immediately, he increased his speed, the snow flying up from under his metal-spiked tires and filling the air behind him. Their camp wasn’t far now, just a few more minutes at most. The question running through his mind was: should he just grab the radio and make for the boat? Or should he report in first, then get off the island?

Go for the boat. That made the most sense. Once he was surrounded by the sea, it would be harder for them to get to him. At that point, he could radio in without fear of being interrupted.

As he sped toward the overhang, he carefully examined the surrounding area for signs that anyone else might be around. There was no way to know how he and Napoli had been discovered, but one of the possibilities was that the people from the outpost had run across their camp. Thankfully, everything looked as it had when the two of them headed out several hours earlier.

He parked the bike next to the entrance, and ran inside. He headed straight for the radio. It was the only important thing. He stuffed it into its carrying case, returned to the bike, and took off again.

When he finally reached the top of the path that led down to the bay, he stopped. He didn’t even consider riding the bike down. That would be a great way to accidentally kill himself. He ditched the bike, and moved as quickly as he could down the makeshift trail. He could see the boat now, rocking on the water. There was something else, too. Even in the short time they’d been on the island, the bay was starting to ice over. Another couple of days and the boat would have been caught in it.

When he reached the bottom, he headed straight for the small Zodiac he and Napoli had used to reach the shore. The craft was right where they’d left it, lashed down and secured to the ground by metal pylons hammered into the ice.

Sawyer quickly undid the rope, and manhandled the boat as far out onto the ice as he dared. He climbed inside, and used one of the emergency oars to shove the Zodiac along until the ice cracked underneath and the boat splashed into the water. He started up the motor and dropped the propeller into the sea. Ignoring the freezing spray from the waves, he twisted the handle, giving the engine more power, and aimed for the boat.

Every few seconds, he glanced back at the shore, sure he would see half a dozen men with rifles preparing to shoot at him, but the beach and cliffs remained empty. He was going to make it. Once on the boat, he’d kick on the modified dual engines that would have done many tugboats proud, and he’d be miles away in no time.

He brought the Zodiac around to the rear, lifted his pack and the radio onto the aft deck, then climbed aboard. With no time to bring the Zodiac on after him, he secured it to a cleat, giving it enough line so that he could tow it without it getting in the way of the motors.

Once he finished, he grabbed the bags and raced into the cabin, heading straight for the controls. He turned the key and pushed the button to start the engines.

Nothing.

He tried again. Not even a sound.

Had the batteries died? Had water gotten into the fuel line and frozen?

Both he and Napoli had been given crash courses on the ins and outs of all the systems on the boat, so they could take care of any problems themselves. Growing up on a farm surrounded by complex equipment, understanding the boat and its workings had come easily for Sawyer. For Napoli, it had been more of a struggle.

Angry and annoyed, Sawyer turned to head out to the access panels on the deck.

“Your engines are fine,” a voice said behind him.

Sawyer reached for his gun.

“Not a good idea. You’ll be dead before you lift it an inch.”

Sawyer held his hand above the gun’s grip for a second longer, then, reluctantly, he let his hand drop to his side. He couldn’t allow himself to be killed. Not yet anyway.

Slowly he turned back around.

Standing in the cabin, just to the side of the stairs that led to the living quarters below, was a middle-aged man with close-cropped hair and steely eyes. Behind him at the top of the stairs was a younger man pointing a gun at Sawyer.

“Which one are you?” the middle-aged man asked. “Napoli or Sawyer?”

Sawyer kept his face neutral, hiding his surprise at hearing the names.

“You’re probably Sawyer, aren’t you? Yes, Sawyer. Napoli was shorter, if I’m not mistaken. Sorry we had to kill him, but it was either him or you. He just happened to be in the wrong spot.” The man smiled. “Mr. Sawyer, we need your help.”

“Too bad.”

“Spirited. Nice. But I was only being polite. We’re going to get your help whether you give it freely or not.”

Were there more men below? Or was it just the two? If so, Sawyer thought he had at least an even shot at taking them out.

“Son,” the man said. “It would be better for you if you just cooperated. Trust me, you don’t want to go through what will be done to you if you don’t. Let’s save a lot of time, huh? All we need you to do is give us your confirmation code words.”

This time it was harder for Sawyer to keep his expression from cracking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Confirmation codes? Jesus, how did they even know about that?

The codes were an ever-changing set of phrases used to authenticate the user’s identity.

“I respect that. A lot more than if you had just given them over, that’s for sure,” the man said. “Unfortunately for you, respect is about all I can give you. You need to tell us, or we start ripping you apart. Simple as that.”

Sawyer’s eye twitched. “I’m not telling you anything.”

The man stared at him. “That’s disappointing.”

The boat rocked upward as a particularly large swell passed underneath.

There was no other time. It was now or die.

Sawyer shot a hand out, grabbed the handle of his backpack, and flung it at the man with the gun. Just as it hit him, the guy pulled his trigger, but the barrel had been jerked upward, so the bullet went harmlessly through the ceiling of the cabin. The man with the gun tumbled backward down the stairs.

Sawyer pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the older one.

“I told you I didn’t want to talk,” he said.

The man looked as calm as he had a moment earlier. “And I told you you’re going to talk no matter what.”

The window behind Sawyer shattered. Before he could even turn, he was hit in the back twice, not by bullets, but by what felt like spikes or-

With a sudden jolt, he lost all control of his body and fell to the ground, his muscles contracting randomly, out of his control.

He had two coherent thoughts before he finally passed out.

The first: I need to tell the Ranch that I found Bluebird.

The second: That’s never going to happen.

Dr. Norris told Major Ross it would take no more than an hour to extract the information from the man named Sawyer. It actually took almost three, but this didn’t surprise the major. He had seen the determination and drive in the man’s eyes as they talked in the cabin on the boat.