The Brotherhood of the Rose (13 page)

The meadow enlarged abruptly. As he settled down, it seemed to swoop toward him. With a jolt, he hit, the impact shuddering through him as he bent his knees and toppled sideways, absorbing the shock along his hip, his side, and his shoulder. The chute billowed in the wind, dragging him across the meadow. He surged to his feet, tugging the chute lines, pulling them toward him while he rushed to meet the nylon hood and compact the chute, restraining the wind's resistance. "You're out of practice," a husky voice said from the shelter of the pines..

Recognizing it, Chris turned, feigning irritation. "What the hell? You think you can do it better?"

"I sure can. I've never seen a crummier landing."

"The wind was against me."

"Excuses," the voice said. "The sign of an amateur."

"And criticism's the sign of an ungrateful sonofabitch. If you didn't have so much to say, you'd come out here to help me. "Definitely not the tough guy I used to know."

"Tough or not, I'm the closest thing to a brother you've got-"

"No argument. Even with your faults, I love you."

Chris's throat ached with affection. "If you're so damned sentimental, why don't you show yourself?"

"Because I can't resist making an entrance."

"A husky dark-haired man stepped slowly from the forest. 1. Six feet tall, solidly muscled, with chiseled chin and cheek and ij forehead, the man grinned, his dark eyes glinting. He wore high laced boots, faded jeans, and a green wool shirt that matched the pines. He carried a bolt-action Springfield rifle. "Eight years, Chris. God, what's the matter with us? We never should have separated."

"Business," Chris said. "Business?" Saul answered, the word tinged with disgust. "We let -it ruin us." Eager, Chris hurried toward him, clutching his folded parachute. So much to know, to say. "What's happened? Why are they trying to kill you?"

"Business," Saul said again. "He turned against me."

"Who?" chris had almost reached him. "Can't you guess? The man we figured never would."

"But that's impossible!"

"I'll prove it to you."

But suddenly only one thing had significance. Chris dropped the parachute, staring at Saul's rugged handsome face. Hardly able to breathe, he opened his arms and hugged him. Straining, they seemed to want to crush each other's chest and back and muscles, to absorb each other's life.

He almost wept. Their embrace was interrupted. Turning, they peered through a cleft in the pine trees toward the explosion that echoed through the valley as the plane Chris had flown disintegrated on the mountain.

"No, you're wrong! He's not against you!" Chris held his parachute, helmet and goggles, running up the game trail through the pines. "He asked me to find you!"

"Why?"

"To help you! To bring you in!"

"Why?" Saul asked again. "It's obvious. The mole kept intercepting Eliot's instructions to you."

"Mole," Saul scoffed. "Is that what Eliot told you?"

"He said the only way to bring you in safely was for me to act alone."

"He couldn't find me, but he knew I'd try to get in touch with you. He set you up to lead him to me."

From the shadowy woods" Chris saw the cabin brilliant in the sun, small, its long walls chinked with mud, its roof slanting up toward the merging V of the cliffs behind it. "How'd you find this place?"

"I built it. You chose the monastery. I prefer this cabin."

"But it must have taken you--2' "Months. Off and on. After every assignment, when Eliot sent me to Wyoming or Colorado, I slipped away and came back here. I guess you could say it's home."

Chris followed across the scrub-grass clearing. "You're sure no one knows about this place?"

"I'm positive."

"But how?"

"Because I'm still alive." Saul glanced toward the valley's far horizon. "Hurry. We don't have much time."

"For what? You're not making sense."

Puzzled, Chris left the sun's glare, entering the musty shadows of the cabin. He had no chance to appreciate the simple handmade furniture. Saul led him past the sleeping bag on the floor toward the back wall, opening a roughly planed door. Chris felt the cool dank air of a tunnel. "It's a mine shaft." Saul pointed toward the dark. "That's why I built the cabin here. A den ought to have two holes." He turned to the fireplace. Striking a match, he lit the kindling beneath the logs in the hearth. The kindling was dry, but the logs were wet with sap. The flames spread, sending thick smoke up the chimney. "I probably don't need the smoke. No harm in being sure, though. Leave your chute," he told Chris. "Here's a flashlight." Saul led him into the tunnel.

In the flashlight's beam, Chris saw his frosty breath. Timbers supported the roof of the tunnel. An old pick and shovel lay against the wall to the left. A rusted wheelbarrow leaned on its side. Saul touched a dull glint of metal in the moist cold stone. "Silver. Not much left."

The flashlight showed the end of the tunnel. "Here. We have to climb." Saul squeezed through a niche in the rock. He reached up, wedged his boot in a crack, and scrambled out of sight.

Chris followed, scraping his back in the narrow cleft. The stone felt slimy. He had to put the flashlight in his pocket. Then he realized he didn't need it. Above, a narrow beam of light attracted him in the dark-a long way up. Saul leaned toward an outcrop above him, blocking the light. When Saul shifted, Chris could see the light again. "You think I was followed?"

"Of course."

Chris reached for a rock. "I'm sure I wasn't."

"The surveillance team would have been the best." The rock broke from Chris's hand, rumbling down the niche. He froze. "But nobody knew I was looking for you."

"Eliot did."

"You keep blaming Eliot. Next to you, he's the only man I trust."

"Exactly. Your mistake. Mine too." Saul's voice was bitter. His silhouette disappeared beyond the narrow shaft of light.

Chris scrambled higher. The beam of light became larger, brighter. Sweating, he squirmed from the niche and lay on a funnel of weathered rock, its smooth slope warmed by the sun. He peered toward Saul, who crouched above him, shielded by sagebrush, concentrating on the valley. "But I saw no other planes."

"Around you," Saul said. "Sure. But above you? A spotter plane at forty thousand feet? The pursuit team would have held back, flying slowly, out of sight. Till they got instructions."

Chris crawled to him, hunching beneath the sagebrush. "You set me up," he blurted angrily. "You could have met me anywhere."

"That's right. But here, with elaborate precautions, you'd be convinced. I had to prove it to you."

"Prove what?"

I think you know." Chris heard a far-off drone-then another and still others, louder, amplified by the echo of the towering cliffs. Through a distant pass, he saw glinting specks swoop nearer. Choppers. Hueys. Four of them. He flashed back to Nam and muttered, "Jesus." Below him, smoke swirled from the cabin's chimney. Across the valley, the Hueys roared closer, assuming attack foririation. The lead chopper fired a rocket. Exhaust whooshing, the missile streaked down, exploding in the clearing before the cabin. Earth flew, blast stunning. The other choppers soared nearer, releasing rockets.

Above their rush, Chris heard the repeated cracks of fifty caliber machine guns. The cabin blew apart. Concussions thundered through the valley. The choppers swooped closer, strafing the crater where the cabin had stood. Even on the bluff, Chris's ears throbbed. "Two failed attempts against me. This time they've got to make sure." Saul clenched his teeth.

The choppers pivoted from the flaming wreckage, skim- ming the tips of the pine trees, hurrying toward the meadow beside the lake. Blades glinting, they hovered twenty feet above the meadow, A rope flipped from each, dangling toward the grass. A man wearing pale outdoor clothes, an automatic rifle slung across his back, appeared at an open hatch. He gripped the rope, rappelling to the ground. Other men, like spiders from dragonflies, slipped down from other ropes. In the meadow, they unslung their rifles, spreading in a semicircle, their backs to the lake. "By the book," Chris said. "They're not sure we were in the cabin. They have to assume we're still a threat. How many?"

"Sixteen."

"Check." Saul pointed. Chris saw a man in one chopper lower a dog in a sling. A German shepherd. A second dog descended from another chopper. On the ground, two men stopped aiming their rifles and squirmed back to free the harnesses from the dogs. Relieved of their cargo, the choppers retreated to the far end of the valley.

Every elite corps preferred a different breed. The Navy Seals used hunting poodles. The Rangers liked Dobermans. "German shepherds. Special Forces." Chris's throat felt dry.

The dogs ran with the two men toward the trees. The other men aimed, ready to provide covering fire. A group of four darted toward the trees, then five and another five.

Chris scanned the trees, waiting for the men to appear. "We don't have a chance. All I've got is this Mauser. You've got just that bolt-action Springfield. Even if we were property armed-"

"We won't have to fight."

"But those dogs'll track us into the tunnel." Chris turned toward the basin behind him, watching the niche from which he'd climbed. "The men'll find where we went. They'll order the choppers to strafe this bluff. Then they'll climb up here and nish the job."

"Believe me, we're covered." Chris opened his mouth to object, then froze as Saul gestured abruptly toward the trees. A man stepped out, presumably inviting shots so the other men would have a target. As the decoy approached the smoking wreckage, a second man showed himself, then a third. "They're feeling confident. The dogs must have followed our scent directly to the cabin." Saul watched the lead man point toward the wall of rock behind the shattered logs. "He's found the tunnel."

"We have to get out of here."

"Not yet."

"For Christ's sake---!' Five men joined the first man. Cautious, they came near the cliff. From the top, Chris couldn't see them now. Droning, the choppers continued hovering in the safety of the far end of the valley. Saul squirmed back, pausing at the smooth rock funnel that sloped down to the niche. Careful not to show himself, he listened. Chris frowned, puzzled.

Saul abruptly grinned and pointed toward sounds from the niche. Chris didn't understand why Saul seemed pleased. Then he did as Saul pulled a radio transmitter from his pocket, pushing a button.

Bracing himself, Chris felt the earth shake. A roar burst up from the tunnel. Spinning, he peered toward the cabin's wreckage below the cliff. Chunks of rock flew across the clearing. Dust swirled. "Six down, ten to go," Saul said. "You rigged explosives in the tunnel."

"Eliot always said make sure you protect your escape route. Now I'm turning his rules against him. Have I convinced you he wants to kill me?"

Chris nodded sickly, staring toward the trees below him. The other men ran from the pines toward the rumble of falling rock in the tunnel. "No one else knew I was looking for you. He used me." The implications made his stomach feel like ice. "He tried to kill me too. Goddamn it, why? He's like--2' "I know. He's the closest we have to a father."

In the clearing, a man blurted instructions into a field radio. The choppers suddenly left their safe position at the far end of the valley and rushed toward the clearing, their roar growing louder. Chris saw the German shepherds on guard at the rim of the trees. "All right," Saul said. "Those men are close enough to the tunnel. Let's get out of here."

He scrambled back. Chris followed, watching Saul push the radio transmitter again. "Another surprise." Chris barely heard him in the sudden explosion from the cliff behind him. The shock-wave pushed him forward, pressing his ears. A rumble came next, a swelling crash of rocks and earth as the cliff fell toward the men in the clearing. He heard their screams. "That ought to take care of the rest of them," Saul said. Running, he dropped the transmitter. "What about the choppers?"

"Trust me."

They raced through sagebrush. Chris tasted dust, squinting from the sun. In the rapidly approaching roar of the choppers, he wondered if the other side of the bluff would end at another cliff. Instead Saul led him down a wooded slope toward a different valley. In the shadowy cover of trees, Chris felt the sweat cool on his forehead. "The choppers'll take a minute to work out their strategy," Saul said, breathing quickly. "One'll probably land to look for survivors."

"'that leaves three." The fallen pine needles muffled Chris's steps. "They'll have to guess we were on that bluff. They'll head for this valley."

"On foot, we can't get away before they bring in reinforcements. They'll use other dogs to track us."

"Absolutely right." Saul reached the bottom, splashing through a stream, charging up its bank. Chris followed, his wet pants clinging cold to his legs. Ahead, Saul stopped in a thick stretch of timber. He tugged at fallen logs and tangled underbrush. "Quick. Help."

Chris heaved the logs. "But why?" Then he understood. He pulled a rotten stump -away and saw a sheet of plastic wrapped around a bulky object. Before he could ask what it was, Saul unwrapped the sheet.

Chris almost laughed. A trail bike-thick wide tires and heavy suspension. "But how'd you-?"