BooksBarbecue
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Chapters (86)
  1. Foreword
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. Afterword

“What do you need it for?”

“To make a phone call.”

He pulled his wallet from his pocket and gave her his card.

“It’s got to be cash,” she said.

He gave her what he had and she crossed the lot to the pay phone. She dialed and then watched Piotr in the car. It would be so easy for him to drive off and leave her. And so much safer for him.

But he didn’t.

“Everlane,” she said into the phone when it answered. “I need the location of the extraction point.”

81

Lance lay in the brush, blood pumping from his leg in spurts, and wondered whether he was dead or alive. He decided that if he were dead, there was no way he could be in so much pain. Beyond the brush, a hundred yards off, he could see the flames of the chopper. He’d managed to bail at the last second, but that still meant a drop of over forty feet into a clump of trees that seemed custom-designed to shred him to pieces on the way down.

He didn’t have time to think about that now. Nor did he have time to check the damage to his leg. He could tell without looking that it wasn’t good. He tore the sleeve off his shirt and tied it tightly around his upper thigh as a makeshift tourniquet. Then, gritting his teeth through the flood of pain, forced himself to his feet and began hobbling toward the nearest fence.

As he crossed the grass, he came across an old man walking his dog. He stopped and looked at the man. The man had a stout Rottweiler on a leash and Lance wondered for a second if he was going to release him. The man did nothing, just stood there, frozen. The dog didn’t move either.

Lance looked over his shoulder at the smoldering helicopter, still burning in front of the small pond, then down at his tattered clothes.

“Give me your coat,” he said.

The old man thought for a second, then took off his long overcoat. Lance reached into his vest and pulled out a wad of cash. He placed it on the ground in front of him.

“Throw the coat,” he said.

The man threw the coat and Lance caught it and put it on. He kept his eye on the dog the entire time.

“I’m sorry,” he said before leaving them.

He hurried toward the fence without looking back. It was about ten feet high and with his injured leg, climbing wasn’t easy. He managed to get over it with great pain, and fell to the pavement on the other side with a thud.