made things even more problematic.
“How do you know the Russians aren’t listening in?” asked Dean. It was a serious question, not like his earlier sarcastic remark.
“Yeah, exactly,” said Karr. “That’s why we don’t want to overuse the system. Although it’s pretty good. I mean, anything can be broken,” said Karr. “But this one is very hard in real time. Besides the encryption, the frequency skips during the transmission. There are two different noise streams mixed in. In other words, if you’re intercepting it, you get three different conversations, and you have to figure out which one is real.”
“They’re
Fashona laughed.
“They’re actual conversations,” said Karr.
“Having Washington talk in your ear isn’t a pain in the ass?” asked Dean.
Karr shrugged. “It’s not Washington.” He rose. “Supposed to be able to buy smokes down the road. OK, Princess, go find Olive’s brother-in-law. We’ll see you probably the day after tomorrow.”
“They give me a map?”
“They promise to download. Didn’t say when, though.”
“You know, screw them. Screw Rubens.”
“I hear he’s got a monster wad,” said Karr.
25
The truck wasn’t as old as Dean had expected. In fact, by Russian standards, it wasn’t old at all — a 2000 Toyota 4X4 pickup that had, according to the odometer, 157,132 miles on it.
Four large drums were included in the deal, along with a hand pump, two spares, and a jack that looked half-stripped. Filling the drums with gasoline from a pump at the back of the asbestos-shingled building took nearly an hour, and left Dean’s stomach twisted on its axis, though that may have been from breakfast. The truck’s springs were looser than a mattress in a whorehouse, and Dean hit his head once or twice on the liner as they drove. The first order of business was stopping and getting some of the gear they’d cached near the chopper. The big helicopter looked a little forlorn in the fading light, its rotors drooping toward the ground.
“Stay here,” said Lia, who took the keys and jumped from the truck before Dean could say anything. He got out of the cab and walked down the road, looking for a good place to relieve himself. There wasn’t much cover beyond the rubble of whatever building the lot they’d landed on had once belonged to. Finally he decided he was so far out in the wilderness it didn’t make much difference where he took his leak. He was about halfway through when he thought he could feel someone’s eyes looking at him. He glanced around quickly, saw nothing, then glanced back and forth again, as if trying to shake the paranoia away. Something about peeing in unfamiliar territory made him feel extremely vulnerable, but he couldn’t get rid of the feeling even after zipping up. He took a few steps farther from the road, then crouched down, staring in the direction of the helicopter, which was now beginning to blend in the shadows. He couldn’t see Lia.
Something moved about fifty feet from the helicopter. It was low to the ground, an animal. It began moving roughly in Lia’s direction, disappearing in the darkness.
“Hey!” yelled Dean.
Lia didn’t answer, nor did the dog or whatever it was.
Dean went back to the pickup and fished around behind the drums of spare gasoline to find the tire iron. He couldn’t see it in the dark, and when he heard something else moving in the field, decided to take the long notched pole from the jack instead. The animal was undoubtedly some sort of dog and probably harmless, but Dean’s instincts wouldn’t let him leave Lia alone. He began flanking the general area where they’d put the gear, not quite sure of where it was, debating whether to yell again. Something low and oddly shaped lay on the ground a few yards from the helicopter, in a shallow ravine.
He stared at it for a few moments before realizing it was a bicycle.
“Lia! Lia!” he shouted, trying to warn her. There was a loud growl and then an even louder explosion, the sound a cherry bomb makes in a garbage can. Dean hit the ground; when he looked up he saw Lia dragging a figure toward him, cursing.
It was a girl, fifteen or sixteen, with close-cropped hair and a bruised, dirty face, eyes closed.
“Did you kill her?” said Dean.
“Fuck you, did I kill her? Of course not. Shit.” Lia dragged the girl back to the pickup, where she dumped her on the ground. “Watch her.”
Dean crouched next to the kid. Her pants were torn at the knee and she had a fat lip, but otherwise she didn’t seem hurt. Petrified, yes.
Dean realized he still had the metal jack piece in his hand.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.
“She doesn’t speak English,” said Lia, returning with two knapsacks and a long metal box. The box held one of the assault guns. Lia ripped off something in Russian to the girl, who didn’t acknowledge it.
“Put her in the cab,” said Lia.
“Why?”
“We can’t leave her here. She was trying to steal some of the gear.”
“What are we going to do with her?”
“We’ll dump her off somewhere down the road.”
“Let me get her bike,” said Dean.
“What are you, the fuckin’ Red Cross?”
Dean retrieved the bicycle. As he pulled it upward, he realized a pair of eyes were watching him. He could see the whites clearly, less than ten yards away. He picked up the bike, took a step toward them — they didn’t move.
“Rah!” he yelled, taking another two steps and holding the frame over his head. The eyes disappeared.
Another kid?
No, it was cowering — a dog, definitely a dog.
Dean bent down. “Come here,” he said, though of course the dog had even less idea than his mistress what Dean was saying. He lowered himself into a crouch, but the dog didn’t approach. Finally, he started back toward the truck and heard the animal starting to follow.
Lia had the truck running already. Dean picked up the bike and put it into the back. As he turned, the dog appeared a few yards from the helicopter, barking at him. Dean whistled, then opened the tailgate and whistled again. Maybe it was a universal dog language — the animal bounded forward, jumped into the truck, and squirmed through the barrels to bark at his mistress’s head in the back. She turned and tapped the window, smiling as Dean got in.
“The fucking dog, too?” said Lia.
“Why didn’t you kill it?” said Dean, guessing that the sound had come from the A-2.
“Maybe I’m a rotten shot,” she said, stomping on the gas pedal.
None of them spoke for several hours. They drove north on the highway, stopping twice to refuel and once when Lia ran into a small store and bought food while Dean watched the girl. The temperature outside was dropping steadily by four o’clock; an hour or so later it felt so cold they turned the heater on.
“There’s snow on the ground,” said Dean, looking out the window.
“Just frost,” said Lia. “You forget how far north we are. Some nights it gets cold, even in the summer.”
“We gonna freeze to death?”
“Don’t be a sissy.”
“Where are we going?” he asked.
Lia scowled but didn’t answer.
“How far are we taking her?” Dean asked.
“Far enough that she can’t get back in a day,” said Lia. “If we didn’t take the bike and the dog, we could have
