He was surprised to hear the low thrum of an engine, and recognized the frequency — too low for a car or a plane, the rhythm belonged to a chopper. He urged Mule off the trail, into the last of the trees, and the horse pushed through snow that came to its knees until Floyd pulled up by the trunk of a cedar. Mule settled and Floyd watched the sky. The tops of the trees swayed gently against the bright stars, but there was no sight of the aircraft. The sound of its engine grew louder, and Mule pawed the ground nervously.
Floyd’s heart pounded as he began to make out the occultation of the rotors, which meant the aircraft must be close. Then it appeared, the distinctive silhouette of a Russian-made Mil Mi-24 Hind, commonly known as the flying tank: a fast, heavily armed chopper with trademark down-swept wings. The bird had no running lights and was a solid black against the gray and white of the mountains opposite. It flew toward Floyd and, as it banked in his direction, he saw something that sent panic rushing through him: the familiar green glow of an infra-red night-vision system. Against the cold mountainside, he and the horse would light up in bright oranges and yellow.
Floyd looked around, desperately searching for somewhere to hide, but there was nothing other than trees and deep drifts of snow. As the chopper came straight toward him, he could see the pilot, co-pilot and someone else who stood in the center of the cockpit. All three were staring directly at him. They couldn’t land, but if the bird was properly equipped, they wouldn’t need to. A team could drop-line down to him.
Floyd knew he only had moments to get out of there, but he had no idea how he could outrun a chopper. They would follow him through the mountains. His heart sank at the thought he might never see Beth and the kids again. Then inspiration struck. He dismounted Mule and smacked her rump.
“Get out of here!” Floyd said. “Go! Yah!”
The horse, which had grown increasingly nervous at the sound of the helicopter, didn’t need much encouragement and bolted forward. As Mule ran off, Floyd jumped into a deep drift at the foot of the tree, burying himself in.
As he quickly scooped the last of the freezing snow over his face, Floyd saw the chopper turn toward the horse. With the trees and branches flickering in front of Mule, it would be impossible to tell whether there was a rider clinging to her back.
Floyd held his breath and prayed his gambit would work. Finally, he heard the noise of the chopper’s engine fading away.
Floyd hauled himself out of the drift, dusted off the worst of the damp, clumping snow, and made his way back to the trail. He’d managed to escape capture, but his freedom had come at a high cost. He was now about to cross the Hindu Kush mountains on foot.
Chapter 35
Jessie had arranged for us to stay in an empty house outside Rye, Westchester County. The house belonged to the cousin of Dinah Palmer, one of Private New York’s detectives, who was on vacation in the Caribbean for the winter.
I left Beth and the children there with Jessie, and took the Nissan into the city to see the man who called himself Donald Singer. Justine had arranged for us to meet at Le Loup, an upmarket restaurant on the corner of Lafayette and Howard in Manhattan. I parked in a garage on Lispenard Street, four blocks away, and walked the frozen streets to the meeting. A north wind whipped down the manmade canyons. I hurried on, eager to get inside.
Le Loup was situated on the first floor of a twelve-story Art Deco building. It was one of the city’s top eateries, which made it a safe and public environment in which to meet someone potentially untrustworthy and dangerous. I stepped inside and was greeted by a blast of warm air infused with the smell of butter, onions, garlic and wine. Le Loup was known for its traditional French cuisine but the décor was very much Manhattan. The walls had been stripped back to the brick, which had been painted clinical white. The tables and chairs were constructed of recycled metal and distressed wood, and low-watt filament bulbs glowed like fireflies.
“Bienvenue chez Le Loup,” the hostess said. “Do you have a reservation?”
“I’m meeting Donald Singer,” I replied.
“This way, please, sir.”
I followed her through a crowded bar into the main dining room. The man posing as Singer was sitting at a table in the middle. If he knew I was wise to the deception, he gave no hint of it.
“Mr. Morgan,” he said.
As I took my seat, I checked out the people at the surrounding tables. None of them gave me a second glance, but there was a guy at the bar, linebacker in size, whose narrow eyes lingered on me a little too long. Singer’s muscle, perhaps?
“I was glad when your colleague phoned,” Singer said. “I’m very interested to hear what you’ve found so far. What would you like?”
“Water, please,” I told the hostess, who nodded and withdrew.
I studied Singer more closely than I had when we first met. There was a faint mark on his chin — a faded scar. Or could it be a careless blemish left by a plastic surgeon? His eyes had the false warmth of a politician’s and his smile seemed stuck on. Even his accent didn’t have the ring of authenticity that I recalled.
“I found Beth,” I said.
“That’s great news!” Singer replied, with hollow enthusiasm.
“Unfortunately, she ran off. Someone set the cops on my tail and it spooked her. We were at a hospital. She was injured escaping from people who were trying to abduct her. It was shortly after we left there that she took off.”
“Oh,” Singer remarked, deflated.
“She’s OK, by the way,” I added. “Your grandchildren too.”
“Good,” he replied. “That’s good.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Singer. You raised a very intelligent and resourceful woman.”
“That I did,” he said, nodding his head slowly. “Did you get much chance to speak to her? Did she give any indication why she was on the run?”
He wasn’t sure his cover had been blown.
“No,” I replied. “We didn’t get much chance to talk.” I paused for effect. “But one of my detectives did make an interesting discovery. Did you know Beth is married?”
The man pretending to be Donald Singer leaned forward conspiratorially.
“We’re not meant to talk about it. That’s why I didn’t tell you. It’s classified.”
“Joshua?” I asked.
He nodded. “How did you find out about my son-in-law?”
“My team are very good at uncovering information,” I replied. Now was the time to lay my bait. “We also learned he’s missing in action. The Pentagon are searching for him. According to my sources, they have a fix on his locator beacon.”
“That might explain why Beth vanished,” Singer suggested. “Something to do with whatever trouble Joshua finds himself in.”
“I think it does,” I agreed. “The people pursuing her are professional and highly dangerous. She is doing whatever it takes to get away from them.”
The hostess returned with my water, but I got to my feet as she put the glass on the table.
“Thank you,” I said.
She smiled.
“And thank you, Mr. Singer. I’m sorry to have let you down, but I can assure you it won’t happen again. Stay strong and I’ll be in touch as soon as I have any news.”
“If there’s anything I can do...” His voice trailed off.
“I’ll be sure to let you know,” I said, before heading for the exit.
I walked through the busy bar, wondering whether he would take the bait.
Chapter 36
As I walked out of Le Loup onto the street, I noticed the linebacker who had been sitting at the bar followed me out. I knew if this was any kind of serious operation, he wouldn’t be working alone. I made my way south along Lafayette, squeezing past pedestrians who were swaddled against the chill, listening to the slush and spray of passing vehicles. Suddenly someone barged into me — a young blonde woman in a short coat. She looked up at me, nodded and smiled politely.