“How long have you been with MI6?” Harry asked.

“Long enough. They shipped me off to the Middle East right after training.”

The man’s green eyes and pale skin would never pass as that of a son of Abraham.

“I speak Arabic,” Sharidon explained, correctly interpreting Harry’s skepticism. When Harry didn’t respond, Sharidon opened his anorak and displayed a conglomeration of munitions. “I came prepared.”

“You like toys, do you?” Without another word, Harry pivoted. Using his compass, he entered the tree line and started for the ridge.

Sharidon caught up with him, his jovial tone still intact. “You’re a fine one to talk. I hear you’ve squirreled away one of Musgrove’s jet suits.”

Harry conceded that the lad had a point. “If you speak Arabic, what were you doing in St. Petersburg?”

“I speak Russian as well.”

A linguist. Brilliant. His backup was one step above an analyst. “Couldn’t Nigel free up any other agents?”

“I can hold my own when necessary,” Sharidon said evenly.

“Good to know.”

A pine cone fell, scraping against the tree’s rough bark on the way down. Instinctively, Harry’s hand went for his gun. A red squirrel jumped from limb to limb overhead, flashed its tail, and was gone.

The light mist gave way to heavy drizzle, falling softly between gaps in the canopy, the sound rustling against leaves. Bright-green moss, several inches thick, blanketed downed trees and the forest floor. Here and there above the call of birds, the rush of water gurgled as a burn leaped down the hillside toward the river.

After several minutes of silence, Sharidon spoke. “The forest is lovely. I assume the locals have all sorts of mythical legends about fairies for places like this.”

Fairies? Nigel hadn’t just sent him a Celt, but one with a double-hinged tongue. Sharidon was here to rescue a fellow agent and child and wanted to discuss fairies?

“Where are you making for?” Sharidon asked, not the least rebuffed by Harry’s silence.

“Agent Taylor spent a summer here with the forestry commission during her gap year. She mentioned using caves and crags in rough weather.”

“So, you’re making for that ridge?” Sharidon nodded toward a long granite outcropping in the distance.

“Seems a logical choice, don’t you think?”

“Except that it’s also easily located.”

Despite Sharidon challenging his theory, Harry’s curiosity stirred. On military campaigns, he had learned to listen to his men. More minds often resolved problematic issues. “What do you suggest?”

“If Anders Gilmont were hunting me, I’d keep to the forest. The ridge is too vulnerable.”

“That’s a valid point. I’ll keep it in mind,” Harry said.

“But you’re still going to the ridge.” The corners of Sharidon’s eyes crinkled with amusement.