Arctic Ambush

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “Making computers…” Nick murmured, his attention caught.

  “Manufacturing anything that uses silver. I don’t profess to know your people well, or try to guess what industries would suit them. That would be your job. Instead of selling the lump ore, you might think about added value. Doing something with it. Then, when the mine peters out—and they always die, sooner or later—then Vistaria won’t roll away like another tumble weed in the dust.”

  That had been one of a handful of startling conversations over the last two days.

  Nick looked at the thick curtain of snow through the hotel window, remembering them, and recalling how the ideas they had generated had deprived him of sleep. “I was wondering how you knew to show me the after-effects of your mining activities, not the mine itself,” he told Will now. “How did you know I would be more interested in the consequences?”

  Will’s smile was easy. For a globe-trotting owner of a world-spanning corporation, he was relaxed and lowkey. He was a pleasant man to be around. “We have a dozen open pit mines operating, around the world. Even more underground operations. Hundreds more subsidiary operations and support services. When the request came from your government to show you around, I wanted take you to Sub-Saharan Africa, to our copper mine there. It was my wife’s suggestion I show you Bergmont instead.”

  “Your wife?” Nick was startled.

  Will’s expression grew warmer. “Don’t let the size fool you. We’re a family corporation, and always have been. Linda read the same research on you and your family and your country as I did. She said you would care more about the people and the after-effects. I’ve learned to never argue with her and it sounds like she was right yet again. Yes?”

  Nick nodded. “People are the only consequence that counts. You researched us?”

  “Of course. The other companies that are bidding for the rights would have done their own research, too. You mustn’t be offended by it.”

  “I’m not,” Nick assured him. “I’m only surprised their research didn’t tell them the same thing you got out of it.”

  “Their loss. I hope,” Will added. He straightened up from his lean against the glass. “You’ve got three days more here, Nick. Is there anything else I can show you, or discuss, that will help you decide?”

  “I’m not the ultimate decision maker,” Nick replied. Over Will’s shoulder, he saw through the window a set of bright lights above the nearest peak. “The Cabinet will have the last say…is that a plane?”

  Will turned to look. “Where?”

  “There, on the approach lane to the airport.”

  Will puts his hands up against the glass and his head against them, to shield the interior lights, so he could see better. “My god, yes,” he said. “A small jet, by the look of it. What on earth do they think they’re doing, trying to land in this? The air currents over the peaks must be awful, right now.”

  As he spoke, the big headlights on the plane’s nose and wings jigged sideways as the gale buffeted the plane.

  Nick drew in a breath. “They must be desperate to land.” He put his drink on the nearest table and came back to the window and put his hands up as Will was doing. His hands cut out peripheral light and he could see far more detail.

  The plane was one of the sleek, long-nosed private jets that corporations favored, nothing like the fat-bodied commercial planes the airlines preferred. It was hanging in the turbulent air over the mountains, slowed down to a minimum speed to land and was trying to line itself up for the runway, which was awash with drifting snow, hiding most of the red and green lights that marked it.

  “Surely the air traffic coordinator will wave them off, tell them to land somewhere else?” Nick said.

  “If the coordinator is even on duty,” Will said, his tone worried. “The town decided years ago that as most of the air traffic was mining related, or freight and industrial, the planes could come and go during business hours and leave the town in peace at night.”

  The commercial flight Nick had used to get here had landed at ten in the morning, which fit with what Will was saying.

  The single airstrip spread out below the hotel, which had been built on the mountain next to it, to entice travelers with no accommodations. They could watch the plane land—or not—with no obstructions.

  Nick’s heart squeezed as the jet dropped lower. It was beneath the highest peaks now. “It is landing. The fool.”

  Neither of them spoke again. They watched as the plane shifted and wiggled in the blasts of frigid air. When the tires touched down, the wind whipped away the flurry of snow they threw up. The plane held a straight line on the frosty tarmac for a few seconds. Then the tail shifted sideways as the rear wheels lost traction on the ice. It slewed, even as the jet slowed.

  For a horrific forty seconds, they watched the jet slither in a slow circle down the runway. Nick knew the pilot could do nothing more than stand on the brakes and hope. Planes didn’t have the same steering cars did. A pilot couldn’t turn into a spin to halt it. Nick had lived through a few hairy landings, thanks to the updrafts that could slam planes without warning when they came in to land on Vistaria’s north-south strip, including once when he had been the pilot. At least in Vistaria there wasn’t snow and ice to contend with, too.

  He wouldn’t want to be the pilot right now.

  The jet came to a halt at the end of the runway, which for a jet that size was two hundred feet further than where it should have stopped. The nose faced the small terminal building, the tail hung over the edge of the strip, shadowing the green light beneath.

  It put the plane side-on to the hotel, letting them see the lights in the cabin windows.

  Will’s hands fell away from the window. “That’s my jet,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  “I don’t see a corporate logo on it,” Nick said, examining it. The door was cranking open, only the jet was too far away to see who was opening it. They were just a dark figure in the pelting snow.

  “Not a company plane. My plane,” Will said tightly. “The plane I left in San Francisco.”

  Nick looked at him. The man swallowed. The laugh lines around his eyes were deeper, as he frowned. “Who else would use it?” Nick asked him.

  “The only person who could use it and not be charged with theft would be my wife,” Will said. “That’s impossible, though...”

  Two figures were climbing down the steps, onto the tarmac. They were bundled up in winter gear, with hoods and scarves and gloves and heavy boots. It was impossible to even guess their sex.

  Will turned away from the window. “Barclay!”

  Barclay was one of Will’s security detail, possibly the coordinator, for he was good at his work. He stepped into the dining room, silent and ghostly, and raised a brow.

  “Someone just arrived at the airport in my private jet,” Will told him. “They’ll need a ride.”

  “You wanna talk to ‘em, boss?”

  “You got it in one,” Will said.

  Barclay nodded and moved out of the room once more.

  “Whoever it is, they’ll appreciate a warm drink, when they get here,” Nick pointed out.

  “Think the chef is still on duty?” Will said. His voice was distant, his thoughts on the mystery.

  They had eaten their evening meal already, and the sounds of industry in the kitchen had ceased twenty minutes ago. Nick looked at the swing door. “I know my way around a kitchen well enough to make coffee.”

  He made his way into the kitchen. It was empty, as he had suspected. He worked his way through the cupboards, looking for coffee beans, for a commercial coffee machine sat on the counter by the door.

  The coffee finished brewing just as Nick heard murmurs from the entrance to the dining room. He pushed through the swing door back into the room to see who was there.

  Will had his arms around a woman encased in a full-length pillowy down coat, that hid all of her except for the top half of her gleaming dark hair.

  “They found me
, Will,” she told him, her voice soft, as Barclay and a strange man wearing a similar heavy winter coat moved around the tables. The stranger would be the pilot.

  “They found me,” the woman repeated, the stress rich in her voice. “I had to come. I couldn’t use the phone.”

  Her English was accented. The accent made Nick’s spine tingle, for it was a soft Irish brogue. Once, a long time ago, he had heard nothing but Irish accents. He realized he was rubbing at his thigh and put his hand in his pocket, instead, and curled his fingers around the Saint Christopher medallion he kept there.

  Will cupped the woman’s jaw. This had to be his wife, then. Will wasn’t the sort to keep mistresses. Linda, had he called her?

  She looked up at Will. Nick still couldn’t see her face. “I’m sorry,” she added.

  Will gave her a small smile, meant to reassure. “There’s no help for it now. We’ll figure it out.” He glanced at Nick. “There’s Nick. I should introduce you.”

  The woman turned, the heavy hood falling back, and faced him.

  Dark hair, dark arched brows. Pointed chin. White, flawless skin. Big blue eyes.

  Molly.

  “Dia dhuit, Nick,” she said softly.

  The breath left him. Nick gasped, sucking the air back in, as he almost fell onto the nearest chair. He couldn’t stop staring at her. His heart slammed, hurting. “Molly,” he breathed, as he clutched at his aching thigh. “You died. I saw it.”

  Chapter Three

  Will slid another glass of rye in front of Nick and squeezed his shoulder, while Molly removed her coat and boots and gear and piled them on another of the empty dining tables.

  “I saw you die in Belfast,” Nick repeated. “I saw it.”

  “You saw a building blow up,” Molly told him. She pulled a chair out from another of the tables and put it in front of Nick. Will was talking to the pilot and Barclay. Staying out of it.

  Molly sat on the edge of the chair. She had always been slender. She still was. The slim trousers and dark sweater enhanced her fine curves. She pushed the sweater up her arms and leaned forward. “I wasn’t in the building, Nick. I was supposed to be and it was pure luck I was running late.”

  “I was in the building,” Nick said, his fingers digging into his thigh. “I had just got there. I was late, too. I was looking for you. I figured you’d be pissed as hell because I was late again…”

  Molly’s gaze fell to his thigh, where his fingers kneaded the muscle. “I heard you’d survived. I was so very grateful for that.”

  “Thirty-three people died in the blast,” Nick said.

  “That bomb was meant for only one person,” she replied.

  “You? You weren’t a part of the Troubles,” Nick said. “Neither of us was.”

  Molly shook her head. “I knew all the right people, though. So did you.” She grimaced. “I was an informant, Nick. Only, someone knew what I was going to do. The bomb was meant to silence me.”

  Nick picked up the glass Will had left him. “I thought it had.” He drank it all.

  Will came up behind his wife. Barclay and the pilot were leaving the room. Will put his hand on Molly’s shoulder. “Linda is the reason why Britain could bring the IRA to the table for peace negotiations.”

  “Linda?”

  “I go by Linda, now,” Molly said. “Melinda…Linda. It is close enough I can react normally if someone uses the name.” Her smile was small. “Only you ever called me Molly.” She glanced up at Will, over her shoulder. “Will is the reason I had a life, once it was over. After they got me out of England.” Her smile was warmer, for Will.

  Then her smile faded. “Only, they’ve found me again,” she added.

  Will sat next to her. “What happened? You were to stay in the house.”

  “I did,” she replied.

  “The house is a fortress,” Will said. “We made it that way deliberately. If you had stayed there…”

  “I couldn’t. They spooked me out, Will.”

  “They?” Nick said. “The IRA?”

  “They still exist. We Irish…we have long memories,” Will said. He looked back at Molly. “You don’t scare easily. What did they do?”

  “Phone calls, with no one on the end. Hang ups. Endless callers at the house, looking for directions, looking for people they swore lived there. It was stupid stuff, yet there was too much of it. I got uneasy. There were people hanging about on the street. Not tourists. No cameras, no friends, no backpacks. Just standing or leaning, watching the house. That was the last straw. I got Jesse to drive me in the limousine to the airport, right onto the apron next to the jet. I asked Daryl to file a bogus flight plan, too.”

  “You covered your tracks,” Nick said. His heart was still jumping around.

  “As much as I could,” she replied.

  Nick looked at Will. “How safe is she, standing next to you? You already have your own detail.”

  “They’re more for show and to comfort people with public profiles, like you,” Will said. “They’re good, though. Barclay picks the best.”

  “Nick is good, too,” Molly added. “He was good when he was living in Belfast. He’s got even better since then.”

  Nick looked at her, startled. She had been following his life?

  Then the lights died, leaving them in stunned darkness.

  * * * * *

  “God almighty,” Molly breathed, in the dark, her voice low. “They’re here!”

  Nick blinked, adjusting his vision. It wasn’t completely dark. The thick snow clouds outside almost glowed with the reflected light from the white ground beneath. They were as good as moonlight, filling the room with a pearly light that let him see Will and Molly. They had both got to their feet and were looking around.

  Nick noticed something else. “They cut the furnace, too,” he murmured.

  “That’s bad,” Will said. “With the wind chill outside, the temperature in here will drop quickly.”

  Nick fancied he could already feel a difference in the warmth of the air touching his skin. “Molly, get your coat on again,” he told her. “Both of you, come with me.”

  “Where?” Will demanded.

  Nick headed for the swing door. “There’s a cold room in here.”

  “A cold room?” Will repeated, astounded. The two of them followed Nick into the kitchen.

  There was a pilot light on the gas range that glowed blue, and gave a ghostly light, enough to see to navigate around the big steel counters. Nick opened the door to the cool room and rapped on the steel plating on the outside and inside. “This is bullet proof,” he said.

  Will sucked in a breath. “You don’t have a gun. Unless you smuggled one into Canada?”

  “I don’t have a gun right now,” Nick corrected him. “If whoever did this is carrying, I’ll soon have one.”

  “You’re going after them?” Molly said, as she shrugged into her coat and zipped it up.

  “They spooked you because they wanted you out of the house,” Nick told her. “They wanted you where they could reach you.”

  “How did they find me here, though?”

  “The bogus flight plan might have fooled them for a few moments, but not much longer than that,” Nick said. “Everyone in the company knows Will is here, right now. Of course you would fly to where he is.” He glanced at Will. “You’ll have to shiver for a while. Sorry.” He reached around the front of the heavy lever on the outside of the door and plucked the steel pin out.

  “I could think of worse conditions to be in than a mild chill,” Will said, stepping inside and drawing Molly in with him. There was only a few feet of clear space in the middle of the room. Shelves lined all four sides, loaded with produce and fresh meat, all packed in boxes and labelled.

  Nick held up the pin, so Will could see it, then tapped it against the inside door lever. “See the hole, there?”

  Will bent and peered in the low light. “yes.”

  “Drop the pin in after the door closes. It’s better than
a lock. No one can pick it from the outside and they can shoot at the handle all they want. It’ll just exercise their trigger fingers.” He handed Will the pin.

  “Thank you,” Will said. “This sort of thing…it’s beyond my expertise. I’m just an engineer.”

  Nick swing the door, then paused. “So the research you said you did about me and Vistaria. That was a lie?”

  “We did the research,” Will told him. “Although Linda already knew so much about you. I’m not above using an inside edge if I have one.”

  “Then you knew about me, even before Vistaria learned about the silver deposits?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought the American witness protection program didn’t allow people to talk about their pasts to anyone.”

  Molly pushed her hands into her deep pockets. “I was never one for following rules handed down from on high.”

  Nick sighed. “That’s why you did it, isn’t it? That’s why you cooperated with the English, in Belfast.”

  “Denny, the IRA lieutenant…remember him?” Molly asked.

  Big nose, bent and broken from too many fights. Narrow suspicious eyes. A face constantly flushed red with anger. “Yes, I remember Denny,” Nick said.

  “He told me the IRA didn’t want me seeing you, the weird foreigner that no one could figure out. When I told him to go to hell, he hit me. Said it was an order from the highest levels.” Molly shrugged.

  Will put his arm about her. “How long will this take?”

  “If I have my way, not long at all,” Nick said.

  “I’ve heard enough to know these people play for keeps,” Will said.

  “So will I.”

  Nick shut the door and waited until he heard the pin push into it through the thick, insulated metal door. He leaned on the lever, testing it. It didn’t budge.

  Then he went to find the enemy.

  * * * * *

  The hotel was small. The dining room would seat perhaps thirty people. There was only two floors. The first floor was public rooms, including the dining room, the lobby, and a small bar on the other side. The second floor held the bedrooms. There was no elevator, just a curving staircase up to the first floor.