The dog twisted in midair, a fish breaking water, its yelp carrying up to the high ceiling and bouncing down again. His paws barely touched the hardwood before he bolted out of the ballroom, galloping for the safety of the hall. Leaning forward, Evan jabbed the live collar to the top of the other dog’s head, and the dog shot backward, releasing Evan’s cuff.

He considered Evan for a moment, teeth bared, head cocked, so Evan leaned forward and shocked him again. The dog bayed his confusion and took off, following the fresh paw prints out of the ballroom.

Evan sat there for a moment, his elbows resting on his knees.

He allowed himself two breaths.

But there were still snipers in the hills, a guard in the watchtower, Candy McClure and Orphan M loose somewhere in the building, and René making his getaway.

Evan stood up.

He grabbed the AK first. One of the dead guards had a nice thick jacket, which Evan appropriated, along with the full magazine from his gun. Trudging over to the jumble of corpses by the kitchen, he plucked up the vial that had fallen from René’s coat and regarded it in the light streaming through the back of the house.

Somewhere a helicopter started up, the sound of chopping rotors riding the breeze.

Pocketing the vial and readying the Kalashnikov, Evan stumbled through the demolished rear wall into the bracing winter day.

55. Almost There

55

Almost There

BIG EXPLOSION AND FIREFIGHT DOWNSTAIRS.

HOLD HIM.

SOUNDS LIKE FALLUJAH DOWN THERE. WE HAVE NO WEAPONS.

GET SOME. PIN HIM DOWN.

COPY THAT. NEED BACKUP ASAP.

I’M BRINGING ALL THE BACKUP YOU’LL NEED.

ETA?

ALMOST THERE.

R WE CLEARED FOR KILL IF NECESSARY?

There was a pause, the longest pause Candy could remember Van Sciver ever taking. At last his text appeared.

YES.

*   *   *

The helicopter had lifted off by the time Evan ran around the corner of the chalet. On aggressive tilt, it forged into the eddies of snow. He aimed the AK, but the body of the helo had already vanished into the white, its lights out of reach. Panting, he watched until they, too, disappeared.

The guard in the watchtower was leaning over the railing, gazing at the wake of the helicopter through the scope of the rifle. Evan jogged up from the side, shouldering into the wooden supports, and fired directly up. The snow blunted his view, but he heard the wet thump of impact, and a moment later the rifle plummeted down from the heavens, lodging in the snowbank in front of him.

No dogs, no guards, no doctor, no David, no Dex.

Just two snipers in the hills.

And two Orphans in the house.

Evan stepped forward, snatched up the gun, and examined his haul.

An AR-10 in 7.62, clearly a designated marksman rifle. Evan could get almost seven hundred meters from it, but, given the snow, five hundred would be pushing it.