Private Rogue

Chapter 44

The steady hum of the engines remained constant as we travelled away from Kabul. Feo was an excellent pilot and kept us at five thousand feet as we flew over the desert that stretched between Surobi and Mihtarlam. There were rocky snow-capped peaks in almost every direction, but beneath us the folds of earth were arid desert — long sloping inclines of sand and rock that offered little shade or shelter. I wasn’t warm even in the Russian winter coat Dinara had given me, which fended off the worst of the chill. The three of us wore radio headsets that facilitated easy conversation, and I had brought them up to speed on the investigation.

“So we believe Joshua Floyd is still alive?” Dinara asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “and, if he hasn’t been captured, he’s likely to try to head for friendly territory.”

“Pakistan,” Feo observed from the cockpit.

Dinara and I were in the main cabin, sitting on benches that faced each other.

“That’s where I’d go,” I agreed.

“What would anyone want with a pilot?” Feo asked.

It was a good question and one I’d pondered myself.

“Maybe he’s a foreign intelligence operative who’s turned,” Dinara suggested. “Maybe they want to bring him back under control?”

I hoped not for the sake of Beth and the children. I knew from bitter experience what it was like to discover someone you cared about was a traitor.

“I thought it might be something to do with a past mission,” I said. “Maybe someone is out for revenge?”

“That’s a big grudge,” Feo remarked.

“Special Forces go up against people with the resources and funds to be able to hold big grudges,” I countered.

“Maybe they want something from him — intelligence from a past mission?” Dinara suggested.

“What are your comms like?” I asked. My phone had lost signal three miles outside Kabul.

“Satellite phone and full data,” she replied.

“Can you send a message to Mo-bot?” I asked. “See if she can get access to Floyd’s operations file and find out what he’s been doing.”

Dinara nodded. “Sure.”

“You better buckle up,” Feo said. “We might get some chop in the mountains.”

I stood up and leaned through the gap between the cabin and the cockpit. Ahead of us were the foothills of a vast mountain range. The peaks were rich in snow, and I could see clouds of the stuff being blown off the steep summits by harsh winds. Snow-dusted forests rose to about six thousand feet, above which there was just ice and jagged outcrops of rock. It looked a deeply inhospitable place, and it pained me to think Joshua Floyd might be braving it alone.

“Where are we heading?” I asked, as Feo took us up.

“Kamdesh,” he replied. “Local intelligence says there was some trouble there a few nights ago.”

I nodded and returned to my seat in the back.

The chopper started to dance in the updrafts and I pulled on my seatbelt. I knew Afghanistan well. This was going to be a bumpy ride.