Once Burned, Twice Spy

by Diane Henders

  Wise to the tricks of ground drift, I concentrated on the highway lines instead but accumulating snowdrifts obscured most of them. In places the swirling snow blew high enough to obscure our view, and I slowed to allow a margin of safety in case I wasn’t the only idiot forging through the storm.

  Behind me, Hellhound’s Forester showed only as a pair of faint glows in the whiteness, and I knew he was giving me as much space as possible without losing sight of my taillights. From his lower vantage point he probably couldn’t see anything else.

  Reggie sat silently in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead. I wasn’t sure whether he was pissed off at me for some reason or only anxious about the road conditions and/or my driving skills. Or hell, maybe he was sleeping. The immobile left side of his face gave away nothing.

  A few soft sounds from the back seat drew my attention, but when I glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw Murray and Melinda huddled together under a blanket I decided that watching the ground drift was preferable to observing their private show.

  As the trip dragged on, Reggie called Stemp for our scheduled checkins but otherwise said nothing. Darkness closed in early, and the reflection of our headlights on the airborne snow reduced the visibility even more.

  Giving silent thanks for the Hummer’s powerful low-level fog lamps, I kept driving at half-speed, my neck and shoulders throbbing with tension and my eyes sandpaper-dry from staring into the white tunnel created by our lights.

  “You doing okay?”

  The sound of Reggie’s voice after his long silence startled me so much that I twitched the steering wheel. The Hummer bobbled uneasily. Shit, the roads were getting icier as we neared Calgary.

  I checked my rear-view mirror. Hellhound’s headlights remained faint but steady behind me.

  “Kelly! You getting road hypnosis?” Reggie demanded. “Talk to me.”

  “I’m fine. Just concentrating.” I sighed and eased one aching finger at a time on the steering wheel. “It really would’ve been nice to have a helicopter ride.”

  “No kidding. Are we there yet?”

  The ubiquitous question made my lips creak into a tired smile despite myself. “I figure we’re about twenty minutes out.”

  “Fuck, we’ve been on the road damn near three hours already.”

  “Yeah, but slow and steady wins the-”

  Behind us, Hellhound’s headlights jerked, then vanished in a puff of white.

  “Shit!” I feathered the brakes and the Hummer twisted under us. “Shit-shit-shit!” My voice cut off abruptly, strangled by adrenaline as I steered into the skid.

  Easy, not too much…

  The tires grabbed again, yanking the vehicle in the opposite direction.

  My reflexes corrected before my conscious mind could register the change, twitching the steering wheel left, then right again as we lost traction once more.

  The Hummer straightened, but not enough. We drifted toward the shoulder. The right front tire grabbed again, but the left side was still sliding, shit-shit-shit…

  A wrenching jerk.

  A blinding eruption of white.

  Then blessed stillness.

  “Everybody okay?” I barked.

  Three tentative voices replied ‘yes’.

  Reggie released the handle above the door and flexed his hand as though easing the muscles. “Nice driving.”

  Adrenaline-fuelled rage flared into my veins, but before I could explode he went on, “We’re on the right side of the road, not too far into the ditch, and we didn’t even blow the airbags. Helmand should be able to get us out.”

  Thank God I hadn’t bitten his head off. That had been a compliment, not a gibe.

  I drew a deep shaky breath. “I’m afraid not.” My voice came out thin and tight. “That’s why I braked in the first place. We lost him back there. Reggie…” I hauled the blue duffel bag forward and extracted the P90. “Take this. I’m pretty sure we’re only dealing with black ice here, but…”

  He nodded, already checking the weapon with practiced movements.

  With a shaking hand I reached for my cell phone. It rang as I pulled it out of my waist pouch, and I drew a breath of relief at the sight of Hellhound’s number on the call display. Thank God.

  I hit Talk. “Hi Arnie, I saw you spin out. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Planted pretty good, though. Can ya come pull me out with the Hummer?”

  “Um. Maybe. We’re in the ditch, too. I’m just going to go out and see how bad it is.”

  “’Kay, darlin’, I’ll stand by.”

  Clutching my phone, I slid out of the driver’s seat and sank up to my knees in a snowbank. After floundering in a circuit around the vehicle, I spoke into the phone again. “We’re half off the road and facing the wrong direction, but we might be able to get out on our own.”

  “Awright, give it a try. I’m shovellin’ now, but I’m prob’ly gonna need a tow. Call me back an’ lemme know how it goes.”

  Back in the driver’s seat, I shifted into four-wheel low and crossed my fingers. Come on, Hummer, don’t fail me now.

  But just as I’d feared, the legendary Hummer performance didn’t extend to the H2. The wheels spun and the heavy vehicle settled deeper into its snowy grave.

  I sighed. “Shit. That would’ve been too easy. Guess I’ll get out and start digging.”

  “I’ll help,” Murray volunteered immediately.

  I frowned at his slacks and smart topcoat. “Do you have winter clothes?”

  “These are winter clothes.” He pulled on a pair of fine leather gloves as he spoke, then reached for the door handle.

  “Whoa,” I snapped. “No hat, no scarf, thin boots; and in those dress pants you might as well be naked from the waist down. It’s minus forty-five with the windchill out here. At best, you’ll freeze your hands, feet, and dick in two minutes or less. At worst, you’ll die of hypothermia. You stay put. We don’t need any casualties.”

  He opened his mouth as if to argue, but Melinda clutched his hand and gave him an imploring look. “Murray, honey, Aydan knows best; she’s a professional, remember?”

  Murray subsided reluctantly, and I made a mental note to thank Melinda later.

  “I’ve got my winter gear,” Reggie said.

  I hesitated, trying to think of a tactful way to tell him that I’d had enough trouble slogging through the snow on two good legs. Reggie was strong enough and stubborn enough to try it with his prosthetics, but it likely wouldn’t end well.

  “No, I need you manning the weapon,” I said. “You’re the only one who can do it. Melinda and Murray don’t have military training.”

  I wasn’t actually sure whether that was true; but they didn’t protest so I must have guessed correctly.

  Reggie sat back with a nod, and I added yet another note to my mental Spy Manual: Always know everybody’s capabilities in advance.

  Out in the bitter cold again, I hurried around to the rear to unload my emergency kit and put on my ski pants, heavy parka, and giant Sorel boots.

  After only a few minutes of work, sweat prickled my back despite the icy wind that stung my face. I shed my heavy parka and went to work again wearing only my lighter winter jacket. Sweat-soaked clothes could be deadly, sucking away precious body heat. Better to stay cooler now.

  Twenty minutes later, I leaned on my shovel panting and sweating despite my precautions. Dammit, this didn’t look hopeful. And not a single vehicle had passed us in either direction on the usually-busy highway.

  Shit.

  I pressed the speed dial for Hellhound’s cell phone and he picked up on the first ring. “Hey darlin’, how’s it goin’?”

  “I’ve cleared as much snow as I can but we’re hung over the ditch embankment at a culvert. The front tires will be pretty much useless and the back ones aren’t going to get much traction, either. I’m going to lay out my traction mats and hope for the best. How about you?”

  His tone was wry. “Still shovellin’.”


  I sighed. “Okay, I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

  When I got back into the Hummer and eased my foot onto the accelerator, the tires spun just as I’d feared. I tried turning the steering wheel hard left and then hard right, hoping to capture a shred of traction, but it didn’t help.

  “Shit.” My expletive came out in a hiss of tension. “We might as well start calling tow trucks. They’ll probably take hours to get here.”

  “I already did, while you were shovelling,” Melinda said. “Apparently there’s a bad accident between Calgary and Airdrie and the road is closed. With all the accidents in Calgary plus the big pileup on the highway, there are no tow trucks available. I tried all the smaller towns, too, but they won’t come all the way out here. We’re too close to Calgary.”

  “Dammit!” I drew a deep breath. “Thanks for checking, Melinda.”

  Fear trickled down my backbone, but I shook it off. Stay calm. We were uninjured, and the vehicle provided warmth and shelter. We’d be okay.

  I punched the speed dial for Hellhound’s cell.

  He didn’t answer.

  Chapter 5

  When Hellhound’s voicemail picked up I disconnected, staring at my phone while worry rose like a cold tide. I grabbed the radio handset. “Sirius Alpha Hotel One, this is Sirius Alpha Kilo One, over.”

  I waited.

  No answer.

  “Dammit,” I muttered, then tried again, fear tightening my chest. “Sirius Alpha Hotel One, Sirius Alpha Hotel One, this is Sirius Alpha Kilo One. Acknowledge, over.”

  Nothing but the hiss of radio static.

  “Fuck!” I slammed my fist on the steering wheel, then dropped the Hummer back into gear. Forward, reverse, forward, reverse. A bit more gas each time. The vehicle rocked dangerously, tires whining.

  “Come on, you fucking piece of shit!” I grated.

  “Aydan…”

  Murray’s touch on my shoulder made me corkscrew around to face him. “WHAT?”

  He blanched at the sight of my expression. “Uh… should we get out and push?”

  I got my temper under control, biting off words as if I could grind them to powder between my teeth. “Wouldn’t help. This fucking tank weighs over three tons and we’re high-centred. There’s no way we can shift it.”

  I punched my speed dial one more time.

  Voicemail.

  I gripped the two-way radio like an enemy’s throat and mashed the Transmit button again. “Sirius Alpha Hotel One, Sirius Alpha Hotel One, Sirius Alpha Hotel One, this is Sirius Alpha Kilo One, acknowledge! Over!”

  Still nothing but staticky silence.

  “Fuck this,” I muttered, then raised my voice to address my companions. “Okay, I’m going to go and check on him. Stay here and wait for me to come back.” I repeated myself a little louder, making sure they understood. “Everybody stays with this vehicle, no matter what. Is that clear?”

  As I spoke, I extracted my Glock from its concealed holster and tucked it into my parka pocket, then shrugged on my reflective safety vest.

  Murray and Melinda clutched each other. “Wh-What if you don’t come back?” Melinda quavered.

  “Just stay put,” I repeated. “You have winter gear and blankets, and even if it takes until tomorrow morning, you’ll be okay until a tow truck gets here. Run the engine for a few minutes every now and then, just enough to keep from freezing. Huddle together to keep warm if you run out of gas. If anybody starts shooting at you, return fire, but stay with the vehicle! You’re more likely to die from exposure than from a bullet. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Reggie said, his voice calm and level. “Just get your ass back here in one piece.”

  Hood up and scarf wrapped around my face so only my eyes were exposed, I stepped out into the darkness again. My powerful flashlight reflected only swirling white so I pointed it downward, feeling utterly alone. Stumbling along on trembling legs, I followed the edge of the pavement, stopping occasionally to kick through the drifted snow that nearly obscured the white painted line.

  My sweaty clothes were already chilling and I moved a little faster to generate more body heat. Why hadn’t I changed into dry clothes before I left? Stupid.

  But I hadn’t wanted to waste any time. What had happened to Arnie?

  I fought the mental image of a deadly ambush, his body lying cold and motionless while the inexorable snow consumed his lifeblood.

  I shook my head vigorously to dislodge the thought. He couldn’t have been ambushed; he’d just hit some black ice. He was fine.

  Oh, God, he had to be fine.

  But how far back was he?

  And in the snowy darkness with our tire tracks already drifting full, would I walk right past the Forester buried in the ditch?

  My flashlight penetrated only a few feet into the profound darkness and I fought the eerie conviction that I was enclosed in a small white bubble on a never-ending treadmill, plodding interminably without ever moving forward.

  Fear rose like an icy tide. I could easily die out here alone in the storm. Hypnotized by drifting snow, slowly succumbing to disorientation and the sleepy deceptive warmth of hypothermia…

  Stay focused.

  I checked my watch. I had been floundering over snowdrifts in my heavy boots for ten minutes, but it felt like a lot longer. Horrible certainty filled me, weakening my knees and making my breath catch in a sob.

  If I didn’t find Arnie in the next ten minutes, I would have to turn back. I wasn’t near the limits of my endurance yet, but I would be by the time I slogged all the way back to the Hummer. Nobody could last long in these conditions.

  And despite the agonizing pull of my heart toward Arnie, my duty was to the three brilliant scientists I’d left unguarded behind me.

  Tears freezing on my scarf, I pushed on.

  Long minutes later I spotted an orange hazard triangle at the edge of the road, its base already buried in snow. A few paces later a taillight blazed to life ahead of me.

  My heart leaped.

  Was he warm and safe inside?

  As I hurried forward my momentary flare of hope faded. The taillights weren’t on; they were only reflecting my flashlight.

  The Forester was dark and silent. Snow powdered its surface, accumulating in the contours of the bodywork. The only sounds were the wail of the desolate wind through the Forester’s grille and the sibilance of drifting snow.

  Heart thumping, I slithered through the drifts toward the driver’s door.

  Something moved under my feet.

  An involuntary shriek escaped me as I leaped to the side, my flashlight snapping around to lock onto its target.

  A bulky black-clad body lay facedown beside the Forester.

  A searing rush of adrenaline paralyzed my heart.

  “Arnie!” I dove to my knees beside him, frantically clawing the snow away from his face. “Arnie, ohmigod…”

  “Hey, darlin’.” His voice was a weak breathless shadow of his usual rasp. “Glad to see ya.”

  “What happened?” Cold terror filled me as I took in his position, his left arm pinned under the Forester and his right trapped beneath him.

  “Was shovellin’ underneath.” He drew a short breath. “Truck settled.” Another short breath. “Pinned my arms.”

  I gulped down hysteria and forced myself to inhale deeply and exhale slowly. “Okay, I’ll get you out.”

  “Get my right first.” A shudder shook his body. “Can’t feel it.”

  I wedged my flashlight in a snowbank and threw myself at his shoulder, scraping and digging with both hands. “But… your left is under the truck…”

  “Yeah.” Another short breath. “Can still feel it, though.”

  “Hang on, Arnie, I’ll get you out.” Common sense finally filtered through my panic. “Where’s your shovel?”

  “Under the truck.”

  “Fuck.” I redoubled my efforts, kneeling beside him and flinging snow between my legs like a demented dog.

  A few
minutes later I had cleared a hollow under his shoulder and chest.

  “Can you pull it out now?” I demanded.

  His body heaved upward, twisting and jerking, then fell again. “Can’t.” He panted a couple of breaths. “Can’t move it. Can’t even feel it.”

  His right arm. Those brilliant musician’s fingers…

  I gulped back tears and used all my will to hold my voice steady. “Take your weight off it a bit if you can. I’ll pull it out for you.”

  He heaved and twisted again, and I clamped onto his parka sleeve with both hands and yanked. His arm flopped out, horrifyingly limp. Nausea closed my throat at the sight of his bare right hand, vulnerable skin exposed to the vicious cold.

  My voice came out in a thin quaver. “Weren’t you wearing mittens?”

  “Musta come off when ya pulled my arm out. There’s another pair in the Forester.”

  “Where?”

  “Rear hatch.”

  “I’ll be right back,” I promised, and lurched to my feet to stumble around to the rear of the vehicle.

  A moment later I was pulling the mitten over his cold motionless hand, the skin white in the flashlight’s beam.

  Oh God. If his hand had frozen, he’d never play the guitar again. A memory-flash of Reggie’s scarred pincer-hand made bile rise in my throat. Not Arnie’s beautiful, talented fingers. Not that.

  Somehow I managed to sound firm and confident. “Okay, I’m going to tuck your arm under your side to keep it warm, and then I’ll start digging your left arm out. How…” My voice wavered and I fought it back under control. “How does it feel?”

  “Fine. Warm, right next to the exhaust. Lucky I had my parka an’ mitts on, or I’d ’a gotten burned. There ain’t much weight on it, but my sleeve’s caught on somethin’ an’ I couldn’t move enough to rip it. If I coulda used my other hand, I’d ’a gotten out no problem.”

  Despite his dispassionate words, I could hear a ghost of horror in his voice.