“Don’t be afraid,” Floyd said, but he got no further.

  A sudden blow to the back of his skull sent him crashing to the ground. As he was swept out of the conscious world, he saw a second, much older man, loom over him, his face disfigured by the jagged scars of violence.

  Floyd cursed his own carelessness as everything went black.

  CHAPTER 14

  “WHO ARE YOU again?”

  Steve Shaw, the ruddy-faced local police chief, was either in need of a neurological examination or he was trying to make a point. I’d already told him who we were and why we were there, before he’d invited us into his corner office in the Highland Falls Police Department, a tiny red-brick station he shared with the local ambulance service. Shaw was most definitely trying to be a big fish in a little pond, the walls of his office lined with medals, certificates, and photos of him with local dignitaries. When I looked a little closer, I saw some of the medals had been won at high school swim meets. Every photo featured him oozing self-satisfied pomposity, which was exactly the expression he wore now as I once again introduced myself and Jessica to him. I glanced at her as I did and she flashed me a smile.

  “And why should I tell you anything, Mr. Morgan?”

  “Our client filed the missing persons report with you, correct?” I asked.

  “Indeed. And when he filed it, he didn’t ask whether we would assist an overpriced glory hunter with free information.”

  “Is Greg Chandler still overseeing this department?” Jessie asked. “He and I used to throw back beers every now and then when I was with the Bureau.”

  Shaw grinned arrogantly. “Chandler moved up to the Capitol. I’m on the shortlist for his job, but I don’t like to throw back too many beers.”

  “We just want some background on Ms. Singer,” I said. “Anything you can tell us about friends, local contacts, people she might have gone to in time of need.”

  Shaw was impassive.

  “We’ll reciprocate. Bring you in on anything we find. We’ll give you additional investigative resources. Private is one of the world’s leading detective agencies.”

  “So you say, Mr. Morgan,” Shaw replied. “And while I appreciate your generous offer, we do everything by the book here, and the book says: Don’t share information with third parties. So I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

  I shook my head and shrugged. It was time to admit defeat. Some people were obstinate for the sake of it. Others thought they were doing the right thing. I suspected Shaw was the former.

  “Thanks for your time, Chief,” I said, getting to my feet and leading Jessie out.

  We stepped into a small open-plan office at the front of the building. A couple of uniform cops were at their desks, and the chief’s assistant was on the phone. She waved at us and signaled the exit.

  “Talk about making us feel welcome,” Jessie remarked.

  “Places like this are good for keeping our feet on the ground,” I replied as we headed for the door.

  As we crossed the threshold I reached into my pocket to answer my ringing phone. The display showed Mo-bot’s smiling face.

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  “No ‘hello’?” she replied. “No ‘how are you’?”

  “How are you?” I asked as we stepped into the New York winter. A storm was coming in from the north, and the first flurries had started.

  “We don’t have time to waste on pleasantries,” Mo-bot shot back, and I laughed. “I’ve found a nearby unit contact. Former instructor with the Third called Ted Eisner. He lives about an hour from Garrison. Might be nothing, but he’s the only former member of that unit within a hundred miles.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. “We’ll check it out.”

  “Anytime,” Mo-bot said. “And I’m fine. Thanks for asking, Jack.”

  I hung up and crossed the parking lot. “That was Mo. She found an instructor from the Third Special Forces Group who lives upstate. It’s tenuous, but it’s the best we’ve got right now.

  “A lead is a lead,” Jessie replied as she unlocked the car. “A good detective chases them all down, right?”

  “Right,” I agreed.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE WEATHER HAD turned, and heavy snow tumbled in a swirling, blinding cascade as Beth steered Ted’s Buick west along I-80. She was crawling behind a long and steady stream of traffic. Two lanes of red lights stretched into the distance before being lost to the white storm. Beth squinted, but it was getting increasingly difficult to see. There had been an accident on the other side of the interstate. Two lines of vehicles were at a standstill behind the wreckage of a pileup. Police and paramedics were on the scene, and the flashing lights of their vehicles gave everything an ethereal, purple tint.

  Beth and the children had been on the road for hours but had only traveled a hundred and fifty miles. Their slow progress had taken its toll on the children, and Danny had been complaining about feeling carsick for the past forty-five minutes.

  “How much longer, Mom?” Maria asked.

  “My tummy hurts,” Danny added.

  “Why don’t you swap with your sister?” Beth suggested.

  “I don’t want to go in the back,” Maria protested. “I’ll feel sick.”

  “But it’s OK for me to,” Danny snapped back.

  “How much farther?” Maria pressed.

  The journey from Garrison to Chicago should have taken twelve hours, but at this rate they’d be on the road for days. Beth was trying to reach Connor Reid, one of her oldest friends, but she knew it was foolish to think she could push through this weather.

  “Mom, I really think I’m going to be sick,” Danny said, and when she glanced in the rearview mirror, Beth saw he’d turned a grim shade of green.

  She opened the windows to swap some of the stuffy heater air for an icy blast. She signaled, and forced her way onto the shoulder. The car slid and slipped as it came into contact with the icy slush massing at the edge of the highway. She steered into the skid and brought the vehicle to a halt.

  Danny jumped out and leaned against the car, gulping in deep breaths. Beth got out and grabbed his coat from the back seat. She threw it over his shoulders and stroked his shoulder.

  “Don’t fight it,” she said, and then realized he was sobbing. “It’s OK, Danny. It’s OK.” She stroked his hair. “We’re going to stop for the day.”

  Beth glanced around and over the tops of the passing cars. Through the thick flurries she saw a brightly lit sign for the Relax Inn, Bloomsburg.

  Danny looked up with wild fear in his eyes. “I don’t want to stop. I want to get to Uncle Connor’s.”

  “It’s OK,” Beth assured him. “We’ll find somewhere safe and wait out the storm. How are you feeling?”

  “A little better.”

  “Think you can handle a short drive?”

  Danny nodded and wiped his eyes.

  “That’s my little soldier,” she said, crouching to give him a hug.

  He turned to climb in the back, but found his sister grinning at him.

  “If I’d known you were going to make such a fuss, I would have let you have the front seat in the first place.”

  Beth grinned at her. Maria loved her little brother, but made a real effort not to let him know that.

  “What do you say, Danny?” Beth asked, but before he could reply, Maria cut in.

  “Oh, it’s OK, Mom. I don’t want his thanks. I’m only doing this so I don’t have to listen to his whining.”

  Beth shook her head, and Danny frowned as he clambered in the front seat. He buckled himself in while Beth jogged around the car and got in.

  “We’re going to stop until the storm passes,” she told Maria.

  Beth started the car and eased back into the line of traffic heading for the next exit.

  CHAPTER 16

  WE MADE SLOW progress to Pleasant Valley. Powder was being dumped by thick gunship-gray clouds that hung low over the mountains. Jessie drove carefully—our journey was interspersed with glimpses of others who hadn’t been so cautious and had come off the roads. We’d always stop and ask if they needed help, but most already had all the aid they needed from other passing motorists, and those who didn’t were waiting for roadside assistance to tow them out of trouble.

  “I’ll never understand people who don’t want to help,” Jessie said as we reached the outskirts of Pleasant Valley. A roadside sign told us it had a population of 9,608.

  “It’s cold. Maybe people don’t want to risk catching a chill,” I replied.

  Jessie shook her head. “No, I was talking about the chief of police. Why be such a stickler?”

  I shrugged. I’d encountered plenty of sticklers over the years and it was impossible to say why they were so inflexible. They were generally almost impossible to reason with, and yet utterly convinced they were right.

  “I think it’s a sign of a lack of confidence,” Jessie declared. “They can’t think creatively, so anything that requires them to step outside the rules is scary.”

  “Maybe,” I replied. “Or maybe they just enjoy making life difficult for everyone else.”

  Jessie smiled, and took a right onto a narrow drive that ran between two stretches of woodland. A set of fresh tire tracks had been carved in the new snow, and we followed them around a gentle bend to a parking area that lay in front of a single-story house. The tire tracks ran up to the adjacent double garage.

  Jessie parked and we got out. I grabbed my coat from the back seat. Jessie did likewise and we started toward the house as we pulled them on. The snow fell so thick and fast I could already feel it beginning to soak through my clothes in the short time it took me to zip up my coat. The swirling storm muffled all sound, and even the crunch of our footsteps took on a muted quality as we approached the front door.

  It opened before we reached it and a tall, gray-haired man with a muscular physique filled the frame. He wore a checked shirt, faded jeans, and a pair of black socks. The glint in his eye and ramrod posture said ex-military.

  “Mr. Eisner?” I guessed. “Edward Eisner?”

  “That’s right. But only my dad called me Edward. It’s Ted,” he replied. “Whatever it is you’re selling, I’m not interested. I want you off my land.”

  “We want to ask you about Elizabeth Singer,” I said.

  “Haven’t seen her for years,” Ted replied, a little too quickly for my liking. “She left the army back when I had a lot less gray hair. I thought she was wasting her life and I told her so. We haven’t spoken since.”

  I looked at Jessie and could tell she was picking up the same dishonesty.

  “Now I already asked you to leave,” Ted said.

  “We’re sorry to have troubled you, Mr. Eisner,” I said.

  Jessie and I returned to the Nissan and jumped in. She started the engine. I watched Ted Eisner eyeball us as Jessie turned us around and drove away from his house.

  “He was lying,” she noted.

  I nodded. “Pull over once we’re out of sight.”

  Jessie continued along the drive until we were almost at the intersection with the road. We were shielded from the house now by a thick screen of pine trees, so she pulled over and killed the engine and we jumped out.

  We picked our way back through the trees. I was grateful for the snow, which enabled us to move silently. We followed the treeline around the edge of the parking area until we were level with the house. There was a yard, maybe twenty feet or so, separating the trees from the side of the building.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  Jessie nodded and we set off, crossing the gap in a matter of moments. We pressed against the wall of the house and worked our way along. We moved to the nearest window, and I glanced in to see a living room full of framed photographs of Ted Eisner in uniform, and caught the polished shine of medals and trophies everywhere. These weren’t for swimming. There was no mistaking this was the home of a decorated veteran.

  I signaled Jessie and we crept toward the rear of the house. We passed another couple of windows that gave us views of a bedroom and a corridor. I could see shadows moving against the corridor wall. Ted Eisner was not alone.

  We went around the back of the house, past another bedroom, until we came to a window beside the back door. I approached it carefully and glanced in to see Ted Eisner sitting in a chair by his kitchen table. He was facing me, but didn’t register my presence. His attention was on the two men in black tactical gear, standing directly in front of him. Both had pistols drawn, and the taller of the two used his to strike Ted’s shoulder. I could almost feel the force of the blow. The veteran groaned as it knocked him out of his chair.

  “Tell us where she is,” his assailant demanded. The man had a thick Russian accent.

  Ted looked up at the man with steel in his eyes. “Do your worst. I ain’t saying nothing.”

  CHAPTER 17

  JESSIE AND I stepped away from the window and moved back along the side of the house. She took out her phone and indicated she was going to make a call, before moving toward the woods. I gave her the “eyes on” signal and returned to the kitchen window. I crouched down and peered through the misty glass.

  “Tell me where she is,” the taller of the two men growled. His accomplice punched Ted in the ribs.

  The veteran groaned, but said nothing. I heard a phone ring. The tall man answered it. He spoke in Russian, and listened for a moment before hanging up. His mood seemed to have shifted and my hackles rose when I saw him check his pistol.

  He said something in Russian, and his accomplice backed away from Ted. I knew what was coming next, and cast around desperately. I caught sight of a woodpile by the back door; buried in one of the logs was a snow-covered hand ax. It would have to do.

  I ran to the woodpile, grabbed the ax, pulled it free, and barreled toward the back door. Through the glass panel, I saw Ted raise his hands instinctively as the Russian aimed the pistol at his head.

  The shorter man registered my presence first, but he wasn’t the immediate threat. I saw him glance at me as I rushed onto the porch and smashed through the back door. Glass sprayed everywhere, and my loud crashing entrance had the desired effect. As the gunman turned in my direction, I threw the ax and it hit him heel first on the forehead, knocking him off his feet and sending his gun clattering across the floor.

  His short accomplice, a man with a rough beard and a dirty face, reached inside his jacket, but I was on him immediately, throwing a couple of jabs that knocked him back. He managed to draw his gun, but I blocked him when he tried to bring it around, and it went off by my ear, deafening me on my left side. Silence was suddenly replaced by terrible ringing, but I ignored it and grabbed his arm, twisting it around, causing him to drop the gun. I kicked it away, but immediately sensed movement behind me.

  I turned just in time to see the tall Russian getting to his feet. I dived for his gun before he could reach it and turned it on him. He upended the kitchen table, shielding himself from my aim, and both he and the shorter assailant ran through a door into the garage, slamming it behind them.

  I checked on Ted, who was alive but dazed, and ran to the door to the garage as I heard the rumble of an engine. The door was locked, so I stepped back and fired three rounds by the handle. The lock popped and I burst into the garage to see a large black Escalade smash through the double doors, taking part of the brickwork with it.

  Through the wrecked doors, I saw Jessie reverse the Nissan into the Escalade’s path. She was trying to block the driveway, but the driver of the Escalade swerved and struck the rear of the Nissan, sending Jessie into a violent spin. The Nissan skidded on the icy snow, twirling like a carousel, until it came to a crashing halt when it collided with a tree. I ran out and fired a couple of wild shots at the Escalade, which was already speeding into the distance, then raced across to the wrecked Nissan, desperate to see if Jessie was OK.

  CHAPTER 18

  THE FIRST THING Floyd registered was the smell. Sweet, ripe and rotten, an almost overpowering stench of manure and livestock. He opened his eyes and saw straw and droppings, and heard the bray of a nearby animal. He raised his head to see a horned goat poking its muzzle through the wooden struts of an interior partition—its lips working the air as it strained to reach the sleeve of his flight suit. Behind the creature were others, gnawing on some kind of meal heaped in a clay trough.

  Floyd moved his arm and the goat snorted and joined its fellow inmates. Floyd looked up and saw wooden beams supporting rough boards, a ceiling of sorts, the lines of light that fell between them broken by the movement of people overhead. He could hear their footsteps. Lots of footsteps.

  He sat up and looked over his shoulder to see two short stern-faced men in gray shalwar kameez tunics and trousers, standing beyond a wooden gate. Both of them held bolt-action rifles and had pistols holstered in gun belts slung across their chests.

  One of them yelled something in Kamviri—the local language, which Floyd was aware of but not enough to understand—and there came an almost immediate reply from someone he couldn’t see.

  The more dangerous of the two—Floyd had characterized him so because his face was a criss-cross patchwork of old scars—stepped forward and opened the gate, while his companion kept his rifle aimed at Floyd’s chest. Scarface said something and gestured with his long-barreled gun. Floyd didn’t need a translator. He shuffled toward the two men. He was tempted to disarm Scarface, but there was every chance he’d catch a bullet in the gut for his troubles. And besides, he had no idea what lay outside this building. The people of Nuristan weren’t to be underestimated. They’d been at war with one enemy or another for an almost unbroken period of more than a century. Combat was a way of life, and the CIA briefing on the region had left Floyd with a sense of awe at the ability of these people to structure their lives and society around almost ceaseless war.

  When he stepped out of the stall, Floyd saw an exterior door, and another man, about the same height as the first two, but older, with narrow, cruel eyes. He was armed in similar fashion, and when he opened the door, Floyd caught a blast of bitter air. He longed for his flight jacket, but it was nowhere to be seen. Scarface jostled him forward, then directed him through the door leading outside. He was pushed up a flight of stone steps that ran off to the right and was almost blinded by a powerful flashlight shone by a figure at the top of the stairs.