Sokolov had been trained for more than two decades to remain absolutely silent in battlefield situations, but he could not prevent an expression of surprise from escaping from his lips when he recognized this person as Qian Yuxia.
The man with Yuxia now began gesturing with his hands. It was impossible to communicate well in this manner. Russians and Americans—he guessed that this fellow was American—used different systems of hand signs. But the gestures were eloquent enough. The man was envisioning a sort of pincer movement. He and Yuxia would proceed along the high road, Sokolov would likewise continue doing what he was doing, and they would converge on the jihadists at the target, which Sokolov assumed to be Jake Forthrast’s cabin.
All of which was obvious enough. And even had it not been obvious, it was more or less mandatory; neither of them had much choice as to where they would go and what they would do next. That wasn’t the point.
The point was that they should try to avoid killing each other by accident during the fight that was going to begin in a few minutes. And Sokolov thought it was an excellent point.
“THIS WAY!” ZULA called, for Csongor and Marlon were preceding Jake up the driveway, headed for the cabin. Zula could see through the scope of the rifle that the jihadists had parked a couple of vehicles athwart the driveway’s entrance, up where it joined the road. They had posted a few men behind those vehicles and in the surrounding woods, apparently to fire at any neighbors or inquisitive police who might try to come after them. The main group, numbering perhaps five, were running toward the gate, using the half-wrecked SUV as cover. When they got there, they’d be able to shoot down the driveway and pick off anyone standing out in the open.
Olivia had seen the same thing. “Get behind cover!” she was calling. “Come toward me!”
The men were all slow to hear and respond. They had a lot on their minds. Olivia switched into Mandarin and called something out in a high sharp tone that made Marlon’s head swivel around and look right at her. He seemed to come to his senses then and grabbed Csongor’s sleeve and hauled him toward the sound of Olivia’s voice. Csongor was too big and had too much momentum to be diverted by this alone, but he could be steered, and within a few moments he and Marlon were both storming through the belt of woods and undergrowth that ran along the edge of the driveway. They burst out into the semicleared space where Zula and Olivia were. A few seconds later, Jake followed in their wake. Zula collected most of these impressions through her ears, since her gaze was still fixed through the scope at the gate. She had pumped a new round into the rifle. The magazine had only held four to begin with. Muzzle flashes lit up the view through her scope, and several rounds zipped through the foliage over her head.
“I’m covering the gate,” Jake announced. “You should pull back, Zula.”
Zula turned to see Jake kneeling behind the bole of a large tree, aiming his rifle through what she could only assume was a gap in the brush. He fired a round, studied the result, fired two more. Then he glanced up at her and used his eyes and his chin to indicate the direction he thought she should go.
“Over here, Zula!” Olivia called. Zula bent low and scurried into a gap between a goat pen and a net-enclosed structure where Jake and Elizabeth cultivated raspberries. A few seconds later, she had emerged into an open space behind the shed where the goats took shelter from the mountain weather. Olivia, Marlon, and Csongor were there.
It was awkward to say the least. Csongor took a quick step toward her, then faltered.
Why did he falter?
Because she was carrying a rifle?
Because her face was a horror show?
Because he wasn’t sure whether she fancied him?
She searched his face for clues and got no answers, other than a powerful, unfamiliar, and situationally inappropriate feeling of pleasure that he was alive and here.
Two bangs sounded from up the hill. Then a third. Then a whole lot of other bangs in return.
“Uncle John,” Zula explained, in the silence that followed. “I left him with the Glock.”
Olivia said, “So, at the risk of stating the obvious, they’re coming to shake hands with that lot.” She tossed her head in the direction of the driveway, which was all of a sudden sounding like a free-fire zone. Zula peered around the edge of the shed and saw Jake retreating toward them.
“What is going on?” asked the voice of Elizabeth, coming out of the walkie-talkie. “Someone fill me in.”
Zula raised the device toward her face and was about to say something when Jake came in range of her, lashed out with his left hand, and ripped it out of her grasp. “Lock it down, baby,” he said. “Don’t wait for us.”
“Where are you?”
“Tell me you are in lockdown, and I’ll answer your question,” Jake responded testily.
A few moments’ radio silence followed. Jake turned to look at the others. “We’re cut off,” he said. “There’s no way we can get to the cabin before these guys do.”
“Done,” Elizabeth confirmed.
“The safe room is sealed,” Jake announced, then pressed the transmit button on the walkie-talkie again. “Okay. We’re behind the goat shed. I’ll try to update you from time to time. Can the boys hear me?”
“Yes, they’re right here gathered around me.”