Private Rogue

Chapter 49

I told them a condensed version of my story: how a supposed relative of the downed airman had hired me to find people close to him and how I’d discovered my client was a liar, using me to gain leverage over Floyd. I kept things vague so I didn’t compromise Beth and the children.

“You’re being sketchy on the details,” the Englishman said. “Is that because you don’t trust us?”

I smiled. “Just being cautious.”

“But I’m still not convinced,” he replied. “Any one of the men who attacked us could have told that story.”

I studied him and the American woman carefully. They were outsiders. Not just in this village. Whatever had driven them to these mountains had made outcasts of them, by choice or necessity. I didn’t think they were living at the edge of the world because they were on the run from the law. They were too open and empathetic. I believed they were good people, and hoped I was right.

“I used to fly Sea Knights in the US Marine Corps,” I said. “I flew them in Afghanistan. Over these mountains. I was shot down here, so I know exactly how Floyd feels. I know the grief he’s carrying for his comrades, for his brothers. I was lucky enough to be rescued but he is alone out there, hunted by men who will stop at nothing to capture him. Men who are also hunting his family.

“When I left the military, I took over my deadbeat father’s detective agency — Private — and I’ve devoted my life to building it into the most successful detective agency in the world. I sacrificed everything for it. Why did I do that? Because I want to help people. Semper fidelis. It’s the motto of the US Marine Corps. It means: Always faithful. That spirit doesn’t leave a person just because they take off the uniform.”

I paused.

“You want me to convince you with physical proof? I can’t do that. I can show you my ID, you can check out my backstory, but I can’t show you proof of my motivation for finding Joshua. All I can do is lay it all out and hope you recognize the sound of the truth when you hear it. I need to find this man because I made a promise to his wife that I would bring him home safely.”

“Everything he says is true,” Dinara said. “Use Google. Check him out.”

“No Internet,” the Englishman said. “Not till the phone line comes back, at least.”

It was the American woman who came to my rescue. “I’ve heard of Private,” she said. “From my days in the Bureau.”

She studied me closely and I held her gaze. She was sizing me up, and I was wondering how an FBI agent wound up in the Hindu Kush mountains.

“I believe him, John.”

“I do too,” John said, looking at the woman and nodding. “Give him the route, Chris.”

The woman walked over to a set of drawers and took out a map of the region that she handed to me. It was marked with a route through the winter passes, which could get a person to Pakistan.

“This is the route Joshua is taking to the border,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said.

“And if you run into the men who did this,” Chris indicated John’s bandaged shoulder, “send them our regards.”

I nodded. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

We hurried out of the house and ran back the way Vosuruk had led us.

“That was well done,” Feo said. “The way you told your truth.”

I nodded my appreciation. I didn’t often open up, particularly about my father. My family have been a huge source of pain and betrayal in my life, and I try to think about them as little as possible.

We made it back to the chopper and were airborne a few minutes later. I navigated, guiding Feo along the route plotted out on the map given to me by Chris and John.

Our flightpath took us over some rough terrain. We flew over a forest, then above the treeline and through a pass between two high peaks, across a valley and up into another pass. This was a long journey on horseback, but in the chopper we were clocking 150 knots, or about 170 miles per hour over ground, so we covered what might have taken Floyd days in a matter of minutes.

“I’ve got something,” Dinara said through the comms system. She was using a radio scanner to monitor the airwaves. “Encrypted chatter. A lot of it. Multiple signals, rapid communications and quick responses.”

“Down there, two o’clock,” Feo said as we came out of the pass into another valley.

I saw what he was pointing at immediately: the flash and flare of machine gunfire. Even at a distance, it was clear multiple gunmen were converging on a single shooter, who was trying to fight them off. They were moving in on him quickly, and judging from their relative positions, we didn’t have long before the single shooter, who we assumed was Floyd, would be overwhelmed.

“Take us down,” I said to Feo. “Fast!”